"I'm splitting this fic into two parts, because it's kind of epic. I 
thought it'd make it easier to read and MST. Naturally, I also get 
gratification from seeing it posted sooner, but... well... OK, I'm 
pathetic."

 "This story is set a short while after the end of Link's adventures in 
'Zelda: The Ocarina of Time', and uses the locations and characters of that game. There's no reference to events in the other Zelda titles, 'cos they haven't happened yet. However, you will see characters and places that were not found in TOoT or any other Zelda game. As diverse and extensive as the kingdom I loved in TOoT was, I feel that there's unlimited opportunity for Hyrule to expand in fan fiction, where a few lines of writing can do the work of ten texture artists."

*S- Cargo's dictionary / thesaurus program crashes*

"Um...
Let's go!"
 

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SACRED REALM CONQUEST

PART ONE: HYRULE

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ONE

Princess Zelda stalked the palace gardens, her eyes darting from a 
vine covered wall to a gardener's barrow, from a wide tree to a statue of a scholar. She paused as something caught her eye. Through a nearby bush to her left she could see a glimpse of green cloth... Avoiding looking at the suspect bush, she walked away to the right. When she knew she was out of sight of her prey, she approached the bush again, this time crawling on her knees next to the low walls that surrounded the garden's most delicate flowerbeds. Ever patient, Zelda took a roundabout route that kept her well concealed, and a minute later she was at the end of a wall, next to her target. Squatting with her back against the wall she contemplated her next move: after all, she didn't want to jump out on a gardener again. She was giggling under her breath at the memory of the man loosing his grip on his bucket of water in shock and drenching himself, when she heard a badly concealed and easily identifiable sneeze behind her, a few feet to her right. Now there was no doubt. Staying low, Zelda turned, and sprang over the corner of the flowerbed, losing her balance and slipping on the landing: the lush grass was still a little wet from the morning's dew. Link had been on his knees peeking through the leaves of his hiding place, delighting in his cunning when he saw Zelda walk off in the wrong direction. Now he spun to face her and his satisfied expression turned to one of astonishment. He half rose and, still facing her, attempted to quickly escape, but he too lost his balance, falling on his behind after just a few steps. Wearing a broad grin, 
Zelda scrabbled to her feet and ran past the young forest boy, punching him lightly on the shoulder as she passed him. "Got you!" she called. Picking himself up and brushing droplets of water from his Kokiri tunic, Link clasped his forehead in disbelief before breaking into a sprint, treading more carefully now, to catch up with the princess as she ran back to the flagstoned courtyard where their game had begun.

The King of Hyrule, blessed with a precious few hours free from 
official business, watched the two children from a window in the music room on the castle's second storey. As they ran out of his view he walked to a tall stool, picked up his zoruibutar (a Zoran stringed instrument, similar in appearance to a guitar and rare outside their Domain: the King's was a gift from King Zora) and started to play. Relaxing, his mind wandered to thoughts of Link and Zelda. He had been furious the first time the Kokiri boy had come to visit his beloved daughter: somehow the child had managed to get through the castle's gate and avoid his guards. Furious indeed, although at the same time he would have, if challenged, had to concede to being impressed by the boy's intrepidation and 
resourcefulness. That had been three months ago. Now, Link was a regular, invited, visitor to the castle who the King knew and liked... although he was aware that from time to time the two children would sneak in or out of the grounds of their own choice, perhaps for the thrill of the forbidden, perhaps taking pleasure in outwitting their elders. He realised with a slight sadness how Zelda's play reflected the activities of war: eluding guards to infiltrate enemy camps, the hide and seek of guerrilla warfare by a band of freedom fighters, the too easy substitution of the slingshots Link had introduced her to with bows and arrows. There had been no war in Zelda's lifetime... So could this be preparation for her future life? Destiny? A child of seven, already fated to kill in battle? Leaving his reverie, the King realised the melody he was improvising had become slow and melancholy. Lacking the will to change it, he replaced the zoruibutar on the wall.
 

TWO

Clocks, seasons, lifetimes, turn back ten weeks and the past is now. Twenty miles to the north of Hyrule Castle, the morning sky above 
Latsirko, Hyrule's largest port, is overcast, and coloured an austerely beautiful green-grey. Thick fog from the sea has enveloped the docks district. The harbour is quiet, but there is a tangible atmosphere of hard work and exertion here. The groups of mostly Hylian sailors and deckhands loading boxes and sacks onto and off the sleek sailing ships typical of the kingdom move so efficiently, their years spent working together allowing extraordinary co-ordination, that spoken commands are rarely needed by their supervisors. A young figure, perhaps twenty-one years old, walks quickly along the harbour. He wears a long, thick grey woollen coat, and his hands are buried deep in its pockets. A belt at his waist 
suspends a sheathed shortsword. The scabbard is plain, undecorated: either this man attaches little sentiment to his arms, or this is a hastily acquired weapon of convenience. His face is round, but without any fat, neither frowning nor smiling, and he has the pointed ears common to many of the world's humanoid peoples. His black hair is cropped short, an unusual style, and his hairline far back on his forehead. Most new arrivals in Latsirko tend to be intimidated by the proud, arrogant dispositions and muscular builds of the locals, but despite being clearly a newcomer, and certainly not a powerfully built one at that, he makes eye contact with everyone he passes. His dark brown eyes are similar to a child's in their disproportionate size to the rest of his face, however their gaze is anything but childlike: a continuous appraisal of its subject with considerable knowledge and intellect behind it. The scrutiny makes several workers uncomfortable, but they return to their work rather than challenging the imposing figure. 

The grey-clad man walks on for several minutes, when he comes to a mooring numbered '143'. He stops and turns towards its occupant. A large, conspicuously unique ship is anchored here, which appears to have been cannibalistically constructed of choice pieces from numerous other craft characteristic of various towns' fleets: the style of the design and the colours vary even between the different boards that make up the ship's deck. A name is painted on the bow in elaborate Hylian script: 'Anandon'. A wide gangplank bridges the gap between the dock and the ship, which another man now descends, obviously delighting in making the loudest noise he can with his hard wooden sandals. This seaman is in his forties, a little under six feet tall, and rotund, although there is a 
somehow detectable power behind his movements and a strange aura of agility and supreme awareness that an observer would not have expected. He wears a baggy pair of expensive looking purple trousers and a scarlet tunic, under the unbuttoned dodongo hide jacket, dyed a dark crimson, that reaches to his knees. Attached to his belt are several pouches, bags, and boxes, besides the short curved blade hanging in a jewel-encrusted scabbard by his right leg. His unwashed black hair is roughly tied at the back into four long ponytails, and he has a bushy moustache, the ends of which droop several inches below his chin. Any Hylian with experience of the sea would identify this character as a pirate: and this particular pirate a few might be able to identify by name. "Komare!" barks the extravagantly dressed thug, revealing an incomplete set of teeth. He extends a large hand, which the younger man accepts, smiling by now. "You're early. I'm Captain Penack. My crew." Komare leans round Penack and nods acknowledgement to the group of bored pirates at the top of the gangplank, who respond with various cryptic hand gestures, most meant to offend and which amuse him even more. "Come on aboard." the Captain calls over his shoulder, already walking back up the gangplank.Komare follows, taking in everything he sees, followed himself by three of the Anandon's crew. The Captain's lieutenants, he assumes. Penack strides onto the ship and through a door in the back of the mid deck. On the other side of the door is a large, opulently decorated cabin, dominated by a rectangular mahogany table in the centre. Captain Penack seats himself at an immense carved chair at the far end. One of the lieutenants motions for Komare to sit at the opposite end before joining his peers at the sides. The table is short: he is only seated six feet away from Penack. As if it had been designed for conspirators to huddle round, he observes silently. "Conspirators? Well... not far off..." Komare smiles to himself. Penack leans back in his throne. "Everyone that needs to be is here. You can begin." "Very well."Komare rises to his feet again and begins to speak, his words flowing fast and naturally, almost hypnotising his listeners.

More than twenty minutes pass. His uninterrupted address over, Komare returns to his chair. He lowers his head for a second and closes his eyes, as if replenishing his energy from some source within himself. Penack gets up and begins to walk round the room. There had been a lot of ideas to digest. "So... I'd heard stories about the Triforce already on my voyages... a legendary relic, a priceless treasure... Now, you're saying it contains the power to change the whole world for the better?" "That's correct." nods Komare, "I've spent most of my life researching it, travelling the continent in search of books, paintings, bards, old men with tales to tell. Of course, I found myself thinking during my studies "What, then, is it being used for right now?" As I said, it's clear that Hyrule's Royal Family are keeping the Triforce for themselves, using that power somehow for their own ends. Now I dream of changing that, leading the Kingdom's people to rebellion and overthrowing the royalty. Using the power of the Triforce for the good of everyone. That's where I need your help. I need an army to take Hyrule Castle Town... the raw material is out there in the villages and farms of the Fields, and I believe it can be brought to the cause, but the revolutionaries will need training. I'll need skilled fighters like your crew to do that, and to battle as the revolution army's vanguard. I'll also need a number of men to accompany me when I go after the Triforce itself." "You think it's kept in the castle?" Penack can't help thinking of the booty he would be able to seize. "No. It's in another place... one which I know little about. It may be dangerous, it may not, but I don't want to take risks. About the only thing I do know about it is how it's reached, and that is a particular place within Hyrule Castle Town."
Penack paces for a few more seconds, before he abruptly  breaks into a deep, hearty laughter. "You were very convincing. But now I want to see how you're going to persuade us to help you. I've been called a villain myself, and my crew are scoundrels at the very least... in our profession we can live comfortably the way the world is now." "I am a poor man. I cannot offer you money of my own. But by fighting as part of the revolution, you'll have the opportunity to loot Hyrule Castle, and you won't have to share the spoils with anybody. Whatever we find where the Triforce is hidden is yours too. And just think of the fame... you'll all be legends. The pirates who overthrew an unjust monarch." The Captain grins, and pauses briefly. "Meet me at The Shining Shield at noon tomorrow and I'll tell you what I decide. But before you leave, we'll drink! I want to get to know you." A cabin boy fills five unmatching goblets with black Baba beer from a barrel stencilled with another ship's name, and the group drink for several hours. Komare tells several rambling anecdotes, leaving the pirates' eyes streaming with tears of laughter. A more detached onlooker might remark it was strange that Komare never appears in his own stories, or that he never pours himself a second measure of beer, but the pirates do not notice.
 

THREE

As the King walked towards the door of the music room he heard a rapid knock, and a servant entered without waiting for his permission. "Sir, your presence is requested in the second throne room immediately!" he exclaimed earnestly, adding a quick bow.
The King thanked the young man (who left with less haste than he had entered): normally he would be annoyed at having to forfeit his leisure time, but now he was no longer in the mood for recreation. The King put on the blue cloak and small crown that he wore to perform his routine duties, before setting off, at the fastest pace he could manage with dignity, towards the second throne room. The second throne room was where these routine duties were carried out. It was a lot smaller than the main throne room that the Royal Family used for ceremonial purposes and occasions, less architecturally stunning too (the main throne room was designed by the famous artist Miyametti), although it was still big enough to seat two hundred visitors. This room was designed for business, not for show. When he entered, slowing to a more regal speed, the five 
ministers already there were clustered in the aisle talking. Seeing him they rushed to their chairs, although they did not sit, facing the front as the King made his way there. He lowered himself into the wooden throne and motioned for them to come forward to the foot of the dais steps. "What is it you wished to speak to me about?" he asked. One of the men took a further step forward and cleared his throat. "Majesty, we've just received some terrifying reports. They're unconfirmed, but we're told that an army is marching on the Castle. They're just days away." The King was stunned almost into speechlessness, but somehow managed to remain practical.
"Of what size? From which country?" "It's said to number around five thousand men. And as for their country: that's the most worrying thing of all. The army's composed of Hylian citizens. That explains why we didn't receive warnings earlier..." The minister trailed off.
The King was gripping the throne's elaborate arms tightly. A rebellion? Taxes were fair, and the revenue they brought went to people that needed it, when he held court his judgements were wise and never disputed by either side, he led his soldiers from the front line against the marauding bands of monsters that sprang up every so often... He knew he was a good king. A rebellion... Another official arrived and thrust a sealed scroll into the hand of the minister who had been speaking, who quickly read it. "Your Majesty, I'm afraid that now the reports are confirmed..." But the King had already risen, and now stormed past the minister and out of the throne room, beckoning them to follow. As they realised the destination of the route they took through the castle, joined on their 
way by the King's highest ranking soldiers, a few of them began shaking their heads and looking at each other in apprehension. They reached the large rectangular war room, with the immense relief map of the kingdom in the centre and bookshelves crammed with records of past conflicts lining the walls, and filed in, knowing they would not leave before the following morning.
 

FOUR

The King stood on the walkway behind the battlements of Hyrule Castle Town. He had been told of the revolution six days ago, but this, as he watched the dark mass of the rebel army surging slowly across Hyrule Field towards the town, was the first time since that he had felt despair. There was no doubt: they would arrive at the castle today. He was normally a clever tactician, but this enemy had left him confounded. He couldn't find it in himself to attack his own citizens... Besides, Hyrule was not a warlike nation. Its army was very small, although skilled and well equipped. The rebel army on the other hand had been growing with each passing day, swarming around the villages in its path and assimilating many of their residents. He had sent envoys to the rebel army several times, attempting to organise talks between him and their leader, but the revolutionaries only responded with jeers and chants, drowning out the messages shouted from a distance. The last emissary to set out 
had been dragged from his horse and taken prisoner. The envoy escaped their camp that night - after all his captors were hardly adept - but there are certain things that any man, or rather mob, can do as well as any other: the envoy had been badly beaten, and collapsed unconscious on his way back to Hyrule Castle Town, thankfully within the sight of the drawbridge guard. Since then the King had abandoned that course of action, accepting that he would only be able to talk to whoever was leading the revolt when that 'whoever' wanted to. Nearby villages and settlements had been evacuated over the last two days, and their residents were now behind Hyrule Castle Town's thick walls: not only for their protection, but to prevent them being recruited into the revolution. A young member in the unit of Clock Soldiers still standing guard below looked up to the walkway and spotted the King. He gave the brave soldier an encouraging regal nod and a smile, careful not to give away his downward spiralling confidence.
 

FIVE

Komare rode in the middle of the advancing army, on a sleek brown steed a pathetic sympathising nobleman (greedy, and outraged to learn that the King had a secret source of power) had presented him with. As he looked around at the throngs of marching and riding rebels on all sides, he could not help but feel amazed by how many had come to the cause. Most had joined the revolution after attending one of his addresses. Komare knew his speeches were a supernatural form of mind control, but did not feel bad about using such methods: after all, although beyond the ability of normal men, his gift was weak on its own. What multiplied its potency was the energy and hysteria that could build up in a crowd. Besides, the King was so popular with the majority of Hyrule's citizens that without Komare's gift they may never have been possible to convince that their monarch was deceiving them. Soon, though... soon the power of the Triforce would be there to use by everyone. 

His idea of employing the pirates had worked well, although their most important task was still ahead. They had been effective at training the army to some level of proficiency with the weapons they had improvised. Some rebels bore ornate swords passed down through generations, although not drawn in battle for decades... others carried axes, pitchforks, the tools of their trades... yet more simply carried staffs and cudgels quickly carved from trees near their homes. They were admittedly a motley band of fighters, but Komare's plan did not involve directly engaging the Royal soldiers if he could avoid it. This rebel army was needed as a deterrent to attack by the Royal forces, and to intimidate the King with the consequences of resistance, more than anything else. Near the front of the army he could see Penack and his crew, marching - none of 
the pirates were able to ride - with the most highly trained unit of 
revolutionaries, which numbered perhaps fifty skilled fighters. Those few men would be instrumental in his plan to take Hyrule Castle Town. 

The sun swam into a blue space in the cloudy morning sky and warmed him. He felt impossibly sure that by the next morning, Hyrule Castle Town would be his, and the second part of the revolution could begin.

SIX

Serin crouched behind a castellation as another hail of arrows filled 
the air and shut his eyes. He had joined the King's Guard a year ago on his 18th birthday, and this was the first time he had been in real 
combat. It certainly wasn't what he had expected. The picture in his mind's eye had been of him and his fellow warriors crusading against evil creatures in far-off places, his courage pitted against the ferocity of a Wolfos, the horror of a Glibdo, the duelling skill of a Stalfos, honed over hundreds of years of life beyond death... Now he was taking cover from a ragtag militia's arrows, separated from his opponents by a moat, a closed drawbridge, and a twenty-four foot vertical drop, his sword useless. Even if he was able to attack, would he be able to bring himself to do so? He doubted it very much. As the rebels had drawn near to the walls he had seen people he recognised, even friends from his home town. "But what am I doing?" came a sudden rebuke from some rational part of his mind. "I'm no use to the defence if I only think about myself!"

He looked around to find his nearest comrades. Eight metres along the walkway, similarly hunched in the safe shadow of a castellation, was a Clock Soldier. The King had ordered them to fall back to inside the walls and close the drawbridge an hour before the rebels arrived: the difference in numbers would have been too much to overcome. The two gave small salutes to each other. It was good to know there was a friend nearby, even when they didn't seem to be in immediate danger. Then Serin heard a brief clanging sound close behind him. He froze in shock for a few seconds when he turned to see a grapnel attached to the battlements, the climbing rope at its base stretched taut, only a few strides' distance away from him. 
"So, when you're not in danger you can't concentrate: when you are, you can't react?" he taunted himself. Recovering, he ran hunchbacked, trying to stay as low as possible, to the grapnel. Drawing his sword, he swung it from his crouch in an awkward vertical arc above his head, slashing the rope clean through. He was 
rewarded with the splash of the climber dropping into the moat below, but his jubilation only lasted a second before the whole length of the wall erupted into the sound of grapnels striking stone. Despite the din he realised the noise of the archers' fire had stopped. "Of course! They don't want to risk hitting their own fighters..."
Standing now, Serin ran back and forth, attacking rope after rope, his fellow soldiers doing the same. The numbers were too overwhelming however, and after perhaps ten seconds the first attacker made it onto the walkway, too far away from Serin for him to do anything about it. He was a tall pirate, muscles bulging under a black sleeveless tunic. A green bandana was tied around his head and he held a knife between sharp teeth. A Clock Soldier ran up to him carrying a staff. The pirate swatted him with a blow from the back of his open palm, drawing cheers from the rebels below. 
"That isn't a Hylian..." gasped Serin. "What's going on?" Now pirates and the elite of the Hylian rebels were swarming over the 
battlements at all points along the wall. Here inside Hyrule Castle Town the King's soldiers had the advantage of numbers, but the width of the walkway prevented them from exploiting this. It was wide enough for three men normally, meaning only one man could fight effectively in the space. The battle for the walls raged on. Serin knocked away a pirate's sword thrust with his staff before smashing the end of the weapon into the man's rusty breastplate, sending him sprawling. A rebel struck him from behind with a club and he fell to the wooden boards. As the rebel laughed Serin spun and used the staff to sweep the coward's legs away. "No more men are coming over... do they hope to defeat us this way?" he asked himself, standing up painfully. "The advantage they have is that army outside the drawbr..." Realisation.

Throughout the ranks of the defenders, men were having the same 
thoughts. If just one attacker could get to the drawbridge lever, the town would be lost. An officer in the courtyard below the pitched fighting on the walkway shouted orders to ten of the men with him to take positions on the walkway near the brick gatehouse which housed the lever, and sent five more across the courtyard to defend it from inside (the gatehouse could be entered from both the end of the walkway and a door in the courtyard). Looking along the wall, he took stock of the situation. The defenders appeared to have the upper hand, but a few invaders were still battling on. One pirate in particular was fighting with tremendous skill, surprising considering his age and girth. As the officer watched, the pirate blocked a soldier's staff swipe with his curved blade, before exploiting the defensive gap left open by slamming a rock solid palm into the Guardsman's armoured chest, accompanied by a piercing warcry. 
Before the dazed soldier had even crumpled to the ground the pirate had stepped past him and delivered a swift chop with the side of his hand to the head of his next assailant, never pausing in his unrelenting movement forwards. The officer realised that this human tidal wave was inevitably working his way towards the gatehouse door. He ran to the nearby ladder, ready to get onto the walkway when there was space, followed by the remaining members of his unit. "I've fought against that man, or rather his crew, before" advised the soldier below him on the ladder. "He's Captain Penack of the Anandon pirate ship. He carries that shortsword out of respect for pirate tradition more than anything else: his true style is a martial art called One Force." "Don't be afraid of him!" shouted the officer, seeing a space on the walkway and hurling himself up the ladder, making sure he didn't have the time to think twice about facing the pirate. "Go!" He found himself standing right in front of Penack, who paused for a second and turned so his shoulder faced the King's warrior. The officer realised he would have to make the first move. He thrust with his sword, exceptional speed developed over years of service in the King's Guard - and for nothing. Penack performed an evasive hopping sidestep, with what would have been described as grace for a more slender man, landing on his far foot with the other leg tucked close to his torso. The officer barely managed to get his Hylian Shield up to defend himself before 
Penack's kick exploded into being, less than a second later. Despite the famed shield robbing the attack of a little force he nevertheless sailed several metres through the air, his back almost parallel to the boards and Penack's warcry ringing in his ears, before crashing into the unyielding bricks of the gatehouse wall. Lacking the energy to even open his eyes, he heard sandals thud past him, then another cry and a door splintering into firewood. Then he heard shouting, and then he heard the noise of thick chains being paid out, and a drawbridge meeting land, and ten million men marching, and defeat.
 
 

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"You want S- Cargo?  Make it happen...
Write to my alter ego: neil.kirkham@lineone.net
Infect DMG ICE's Viral Speak with your opinion of my parodies or fics 
if you want their staff, me, and the rest of the world to hear it.
I'd be very happy for anyone to MST this! Be vicious! No need to ask me 
first, but please mail me with the address it gets posted at so I can 
check it out."