Death Mountain. In later Zelda titles, the fear inspired by this name would lessen as it became just one more location in the vast land of Hyrule, but in that very first Legend of Zelda, approaching its 8-bit peaks invoked a sense of creeping dread. The instruction booklet had told us that Death Mountain was where Ganon lurked, and my six-year-old self was not sure I was ready for what he had in store for us. I say us because while that first game had no Navi, Midna, or Fi, I had a companion who had been with me every step of the way: my mom.
In the overworld, my mom shouted suggestions that should only be followed in the land of Hyrule, like “burn that bush” or “bomb that wall!” While in the dungeons, when the creepy music swelled and the Wallmaster’s presence or the boss’s breathing was too much for me, she was a second player willing to step in and help Link conquer my fears.
As we entered Death Mountain, I expected to hear the now iconic dungeon theme heard in the first eight dungeons, but I encountered a brand new musical track instead. The aggressive pounding of its melody both spurred me on as I navigated the dark corridors and hidden passages of the labyrinth and caused the hair to bristle on my neck. It evoked both a sense of impending triumph and doom. Which would it be for my mom and I?
After many battles with Wizzrobes and the spiraling death machines called Patras, we finally claimed the silver arrows and were ready to confront Ganon. As we entered his inner sanctum, he appeared before us. His pale blue skin and porcine features didn’t appear too terrifying. He looked more like a Moblin who had decided to partake in too many hero roasts, but he soon proved to be more than he appeared. Because he disappeared. Where was he? Why were these fireballs appearing from everywhere? How could I hit what I couldn’t see? Why was Ganon’s interior decorator so obsessed with death? Death Mountain, skull-shaped tile layout — we get it! Before long, I had died.
Determination made me press the Continue button, but I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to continue. It meant making the trek through Death Mountain again, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me. The comforting voice of my mom whispered, “Try again” though, and we were off. It didn’t take as long this time because we already knew where to go, so soon enough we stood locked in battle with Ganon once again.
Still not knowing exactly what I was supposed to be doing, I started chasing the fireballs and swinging my sword wildly; suddenly, Ganon appeared. He was hiding behind the fireballs! I was low on hearts but emboldened by my discovery. I dodged fireballs and attacked. A hit! And another! My good fortunes quickly soured though when my dodging failed and a few fireballs brought me down to one heart.
I paused the game. The constant beeping reminded me that with one heart left I was only a hit away from doom. “Mom, can you do it?” I pleaded. Today, I know that was a bit of an ask, considering that she hadn’t been playing, I only had one heart, and I was fighting the final boss of the game. I wasn’t thinking about that though. At six years old, I was only thinking that Ganon didn’t know that I had a secret weapon: a second hero waiting in the wings.
My mom took the controller and unpaused the game, leaving me holding my breath in anticipation. She dodged the fireballs and slashed. Nothing. Dodged more from the left, more from the right then slashed and Ganon appeared again, but his skin was no longer blue. It was brown. What did that mean? He disappeared again, and my mom resumed her fireball dance as we discussed what Ganon’s newly tanned appearance meant. After some heated discussion, we decided that it must be a good sign and that maybe we need to use the silver arrows we had just received in the dungeon. Why else would we get them in that specific dungeon? Moments passed and my mom’s sword once again struck true, revealing Ganon. She quickly fired silver arrow after silver arrow into him and triumph followed as his body dissolved into ash, leaving behind the Triforce of Power. Link walked through the doorway, and my mom and I watched together as Link and Zelda were united for the first time.
I defeated Ganon on my own hundreds of times after that day. Like the shadow on your wall as you’re trying to sleep, he’s not so scary once you’ve seen him for what he is. My mom and I didn’t adventure as much after that, though. She didn’t play the successive games in the Zelda series. I don’t know why. It could be that she had other commitments, like my younger sister, or it could be that I was just getting older and more likely to adventure alone. But to this day, we still share Zelda together. We marvel at each trailer, and she watches as I show her each new game. We don’t play the games together anymore, but I will always be glad that I heeded the Old Man’s advice when he said, “It’s dangerous to go alone.” It wasn’t all that dangerous though, because I wasn’t alone.
