One Who is Able

Dusk in the Goron Slums of Hyrule Castle-Town may have been midnight for all the light that made into that dark district. Buildings, many of them dilapidated and falling apart, squeezed against each other so tightly that you could hardly get a ray of light into the area unless the sun was directly overhead. Instead, all the lighting in the area came from torches and braziers set up all around the district, but for every torch that burned you could find three more places where brackets had been torn out of their positions to be used for scrap metal. Those in charge of infrastructure had long since given up on trying to keep that place from looking like anything more than a ghetto.

For most Hylians, the Goron Slums were the type of thing you pinched your nose when you walked by it or even just talked about it. Especially for the nobles, it was considered little more than a malignant tumor in the city, and if they had their way it would be removed before sunrise. The district often reeked of something awful that had died recently, though no one ever really knew what it might be. Most people seemed to think that it was just how Gorons lived, and they were irritated more often than not that they had had to bring that kind of squalor into their city. Most people considered the Gorons little more than brutes most of the time, useful for demanding physical labor but only at the cost of marring their city over it. What was worse, though, was with the ever growing Goron poverty, many of that noble race had been driven to crime, something that made the average Hylian deeply uncomfortable.

No one liked reading that a Goron had just been apprehended for tearing open three Hylian Guards with his bare hands when he was caught stealing from a merchant’s cart. The Goron community condemned any of those atrocious acts done by their members, but there was rumbling amongst them that their options were running out, given their current situation. The king seemed to be under too much pressure by the nobles to really help the Goron refugees, so the situation just compounded and got worse. No one liked it, least of all the Gorons themselves.

Their communities were disjointed, their formal patriarch killed in Ganon’s siege on Goron city thirteen years ago. Ever since then the Gorons had often split themselves into separate circles of power, some arguing that they could not really come together without rituals only performable in their own city. Many Goron brothers were deeply offended at the thought of replicating customs in this slum they now were forced to call home. Political tension and drama had gridlocked the race for years on end, and many were wondering if it could ever be broken out of. Those who had gone criminal often confessed they had seen no end to it, and they had simply given up trying to cope with that life.

But tonight—tonight offered some hope for the Gorons. An assembly had been called amongst all those who would call them heads in the Goron community, some forty or fifty leaders to gather under one roof. The last time an assembly like this had been called was eight years ago, and every leader remembered how much of a disaster that had been. There had been at least a hundred leaders at that time, and the difference between then and now had left in outrage almost immediately after that assembly, declaring they would neither unify under an illegitimate leader nor would they continue to live in squalor in the Goron Slums of the city. They had scattered across the land, and many counted the rash decision now as waste. Still, that kind of damage had been ample discouragement to avoid trying it again for quite some time.

A lone Goron, large even by comparative standards, trudged through the streets, kicking away a heap of trash that had just been left in the middle of the road. Dagoro had been largely responsible for calling this meeting, and he had spent months convincing the elders to do it, finally breaking through to them. There was talk of the King of Hyrule wanting to send men to the south again, and the Gorons needed to have their own structure and leadership if they would even send some of their brothers to the south. Many would be willing to go, eager to both leave the city and perhaps reclaim their home. The large Goron approached a door that was much too low for him, but he knew it was the spot. Reaching back, he slammed his fist into the metal door, leaving a slight imprint. He would not, after all, be confused with a Hylian who sought entrance. The door opened a moment later, and Dagoro stooped down to clear the doorway and enter into the room they had chosen to meet in.

It had once been a hall, he believed, with the ceilings vaulted high enough in the main area for a Goron to stand comfortably. The broken and rotting tables had been pushed to the sides, of no use for supporting Goron weight, and the floor had been cleared and laid with mats for sitting on. Dagoro was not late for this meeting, but it seemed he was not the only feeling a bit of excitement over it, as perhaps two-thirds of the leaders were already present. Some of them talked quietly with one another, but the majority stood around with arms crossed, waiting expectantly. Dagoro’s entrance roused some looks and murmurs, though.

No secret had been made to his potential for leadership. People had considered him a candidate for the last eight years, since he had spoken boldly at the previous assembly. Some blamed him for being too aggressive and causing some of the others to depart in a rush, but many of those who had stayed had supported him. The real issue was convincing the elders to cooperate with one another and support something in unison. The leaders had their says as well, but the opinions of the ten elders was critical for the unity of the Gorons.

Assemblies were not trivial matters among Gorons, especially now. There would be no time wasted bellyaching or talking about simple matters like food distribution or dealing with crime. No, this was a time to try and rally this disjointed race together and speak of the future for all of them and their children. The format for the assembly was exceedingly simple, though: a leader would speak their mind and make a proposition, and then the other leaders could make counter propositions. When it was over, the elders would decide a course of action; if their consensus was inconclusive, though, nothing would happen. Dagoro hoped their indecisiveness would end this night.

He spoke to no one, merely leaving his cloak at the door and walking to the end of the hall where many of the elders had already congregated. Instead, the large Goron simply observed his brothers in the hall. There was a time when the Gorons would eagerly call themselves a noble and unified race, striving for the best with one another to improve their lives. But now… after Ganon’s attack and the fall of their Big Brother, their Patriarch, tensions were so tight you could play a tune off them, and Dagoro wondered who would challenge him tonight and with what. The elders had not been forthcoming about other challengers.

A few more Gorons filtered in, and Dagoro made his count one last time. Forty-eight, and the assembly started officially three minutes ago. He glanced toward the chief elder in time to see the Goron stand up slowly from his sitting position, and the assembly bowed their heads respectively, lifting them only when the elder spoke, “This assembly has been called by the elders and by your brothers, to seek wisdom in time of great need and to discuss the future of our people. Goddesses willing, we will move forward after this night is finished, to a greater destiny for our people. Let the one who finds his words wise speak now.”

The group of leaders grunted in approval, though no one moved at first. An assembly was not a place you just spouted ideas or hoped to gain favor; it was a place for those who believed most strongly in what they had to say to bring that forward, to promote or to refute. Dagoro doubted more than three or four at a maximum had felt compelled to thoroughly prepare for this assembly. After all, it was still an odd thing to have assemblies like this; even after thirteen years the Gorons still felt strangely about not having true leadership among their people. Dagoro would wait no longer.

“I will speak, for I am able,” Dagoro declared loudly, stepping forward into the circle, surrounded by his brothers. Only a few of the leaders murmured at this, but many of them expected he would make the stand. Despite expectations, though, their faces varied largely. Some looked interested in what he might have to say, almost eager even, but many others too looked at him with judgment in their eyes, waiting for him to speak and say something he would regret. For a moment, Dagoro felt the intense pressure of his situation. What he spoke next could impact the Gorons for generations. The right words could bind them together, but the wrong words could damage them beyond repair.

That feeling faded quickly as he began to speak, though, remembering everything he had rehearsed by heart, “My brothers—my friends. For thirteen years we have been homeless. When Ganon attacked us, we faced his fires stronger than any other, and see how we have suffered for it. We have endured, we have worked hard, but still we do little more than slow our sinking. This city has taken our invaluable labor, profited off our finesse, but still we are no better off than when we arrived here. Indeed, we are far worse. This place is not our home. It has never been and it never will be. The Goron people must have their lands restored, and tonight I tell you this is possible.”

Some of the Gorons who had been previously impassive stirred. What was he going to suggest? So far he had spoken nothing new, only things that had been agreed upon before, but now he claimed a new home was possible? Several of the large, rocky creatures shifted with some amount of anticipation for his next words, though they would not interrupt, “This last winter was the worst this land has ever seen, but it has brought new possibilities in its wake. To north, far to the north, what has now been called Snowhead Mountain has been revealed to our eyes. This land is beyond the boundaries of this city, a land unknown, unexplored, and unclaimed. The Hylians tenderly try to establish themselves, but for a race such as ours? We have more strength, more endurance, and more resolve than any other. To replant our feet in the stones that have always held us is our calling, not this district in the middle of a Hylian city. Our home is in the mountains as it always has been!”

Emotions among the Gorons were beginning to shift now, at this suggestion. There had been idle talk of Snowhead, but Dagoro’s proposition was the first thing close to official regarding it. He paused now, taking in the faces of his audience. Many seemed excited still at this proposition, and he offered solemn nods to the leaders he knew had given talk of this before. Among others, though, anger was rising up. What Dagoro suggested meant truly abandoning their home in Death Mountain. It meant abandoning their culture and rituals they had held to decades before this. The true proposal had yet to be made though, and Dagoro finished what he had to say with boldness.

“I tell you brothers, the only thing that holds us back now is each other. We may blame the Hylians for their poor treatment of us, but it is on our own backs to decide our futures. It does us no good as a strong race to suppose our burdens fall on the weaker. On this day, I propose steps forward for the Goron people: I propose myself as Patriarch. I will bind our people under one name once more, restore our honor, and present the Gorons as a whole before the King of Hyrule. I will bring our people to Snowhead, to a new home, for I am able to do so.”

A mass of rumbling filled the room, and it soon became impossible to know if it were positive or negative. Dagoro had the feeling it would be a volatile mix of both, judging from past circumstances. These Gorons in specific felt as if their traditions and heritage had been torn from them with Death Mountain, and Dagoro proposed two radical blows to that tradition. To make him a Patriarch would be illegitimate, since the ritual for that was required to do in the heart of Death Mountain. Not only that, though, he proposed to abandon the city entirely; many Gorons would find that as more than cowardice.

However, the chief elder stepped forward only a few moments after Dagoro had finished speaking, and the crowd quieted long enough to hear what was to be said. They knew the words, of course, but they also knew respect. “Dagoro has made his proposition. Who among you, brothers, would raise both word and action against it?” It would be important that whoever contested him would do so firmly and with another direction in mind. Simply disagreeing would be petty and considered wasteful. Dagoro wondered who it would be to raise claim against him.

His eyes caught onto Bhankor, and fear seized him for a moment. Bhankor was a respected leader, perhaps a potential elder, and he was known for his fierce devotion to the Goron people above anything else. More than that, though, he had enough years on him to win respect simply on that alone—if Dagoro could have picked an opponent, it would not have been Bhankor. The proud, seasoned Goron took a step forward, beating his chest with a fist emphatically and speaking loudly to the rest of the room, “I will respond, for I too am able.”

He glanced around almost challengingly, and Dagoro narrowed his eyes slightly. His claim for Patriarch had lit a fire under Bhankor that he had not expected, it seemed. He stood his ground as his opponent met him in the center of that circle, keeping his eyes on him the entire time; one couldn’t afford to be cowed at a time like this. Bhankor’s voice boomed throughout the room, but most of his words were directed at Dagoro and the elders who stood behind him. “We are not so weak as to simply give up the fight, are we, brothers? I say we are not! Your brother Dagoro proposes to sacrifice all of our history, all of our ancestry and heritage simply because he is too afraid to fight for the things that are already ours.”

He paused, glancing around the room again, before he launched into his attack once more, “And he would call himself worthy of the role to lead us in such cowardice. I say NO, brothers! I will not sit around and idle for another minute while we wait for the permission of a king who has done nothing for us to move forward. Dagoro is right in one thing: we can no longer waste away in this place we’ve been forced to call home. But instead of running from our problems, I say we face them. On this day, I propose we move to take back what belongs to us: I propose we begin an assault on Death Mountain. We cannot wait for these Hylians to do it, so we will do it ourselves! I will lead this attack, for I am able to do so.”

An assault? On Death Mountain? Of all the things to suggest, none was more bold or unprecedented. There was no doubt in Dagoro’s mind that the Goron race would cease to exist if they attempted to attack Death Mountain; every single brother would be killed in the effort, and at best they would be reduced to a state even worse than they faced now. “You are mad,” Dagoro growled at Bhankor, still amazed he would even suggest something like that. But he could see the strategy. Appealing to their honor and strength in a physical way rather than a long-suffering way could be much more effective, especially among the younger and those who thought they could defeat the forces lying in Goron City now.

Bhankor’s response was simple and final, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Dagoro, “Mad? No, brother, I simply believe in the strength of our people, something you seem incapable of doing. I will lead us to glory, but you will lead us to cowardice. Elders, make your decision.” The demand echoed through the hall, and silence covered all the Gorons. Making a demand of the elders was a sure enough sign that one was agitated, though it was not strictly against the rules. For Dagoro, the pause seemed to last an eternity. What happened next would be critical—if the elders responded positively or even apathetically then it would mean the end to Dagoro’s proposal. The ten elders looked at each other slowly, and Dagoro felt his heart clench as each one nodded one after another to the chief elder, who finally turned to face the leaders, focusing specifically on the two in the center of the circle. They were in an agreement about something it seemed.

“The elders find your decision, Bhankor, to be reckless and without merit. The strong do not boast in their strength but understand their limits. Your proposal would not reclaim our heritage but rather destroy our people, and we will not see that happen. On the honor of your leadership, you will release your proposal,” the chief elder spoke clearly, and a look of sorrow filled Bhankor’s face at the words.

The leader looked at the chief elder for a long moment before nodding and turning his back on him to walk to his original place in the circle. When he had retreated away from the middle, Bhankor spoke respectfully, bowing his head in the process, “I heed your words, chief elder, and release my proposal.” Some of the younger ones who would likely have rushed past Bhankor up the mountain to a fight looked at him with some level of frustration, but all knew it would be equally useless to try and raise a riot after an elder’s words. Even Dagoro was surprised at his obedience to the elders. It seemed it was truly so that no one wanted an assembly like the one eight years ago, when all respect had deteriorated and the race had suffered for it.

Courage flooded into Dagoro at the elder’s words, but he refused to let it show on his face. It had been a bold move on Bhankor’s part—that boldness had not carried it into sanity though, thank the goddesses. Before he could rejoice too much in his victory, though, Dagoro had to brace himself as the elder spoke again, “Are there any more proposals against Dagoro’s? Speak now, if you are able to do so.” There had been silences before in other pauses and breaks, but the silence now was the most absolute thing of the night. Gorons shuffled around, and twice Dagoro was sure a couple of them would step forward, but an entire minute passed in dead silence, every second ticking toward Dagoro’s proposal being accepted. The silence was so strong, in fact that he nearly jumped when the chief elder broke it.

“The elders find Dagoro’s proposal to be both wise and sound. If he is truly able, then the elders will find a suitable place for the ritual to raise him to Patriarch of the Gorons currently in Hyrule Castle-Town. Given the circumstances, the ritual will break tradition, but to ensure the security in progression for the Gorons, we will proceed anyway. This assembly is finished,” the chief elder turned his back on the circle, and the Gorons erupted in applause, only a few sulky enough to not cheer particularly loud. Dagoro grinned in spite of himself, elation rising up in him as several brothers rushed forward and slapped him on the back.

Victory flooded the large Goron with tremendous might, but it only took him a moment to realize it wasn’t for himself. Even though the Gorons around him largely directed their cheers at him, the real rejoicing was for the race as a whole. For the first time in thirteen years, they had a future in their sights.