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The crystal bathed everything in a pinkish hue. Its surface was smooth to the touch, her palms pressed flat against it as her gaze trailed through the chamber and at last down to the man keeping her imprisoned. His long fingers danced along the keyboard, feet working the pedalboard expertly. Music filled the room.
Zelda stared and stared, hoping that the King she’d served for seven years would chance her a glance, giving her an ounce of his focused attention. Her mind tried to remember why she was here, what should happen next, but it drew a blank, leaving her in a restless state. She’d rather be down there sitting beside the man and watch him play. Be as close as she had been during the time where she’d disguised herself as the last Sheikah.
At long last he looked up at her, suspended in the crystal above the pipe organ. His golden eyes drew her in, the intense focus stealing her breath.
“It seems the hero won’t be rushing to your rescue, princess,” he gloated, a mean smirk spreading on his lips. His fingers stilled and his eyes narrowed in contemplation.
“Then set me free,” she suggested and at his disbelieving snort, she added with a flutter of her lashes and a sweet smile, “I won’t run. You will catch me again anyway.”
Was that the right thing to say? His laugh made her smile falter and the shook of his head withered her tentative hope.
“No, dear princess, I cannot risk that.”
Perhaps he wanted to say more, but held back, shaking his head once more. Yet he still looked up at her, craning his neck. With a wave of his hand, the crystal floated back down onto the ground. Cracks appeared on the surface, small at first, slowly expanding along the whole crystal until it shattered. Zelda blinked and stared at him, at his amber coloured eyes watching her like a hawk.
To her surprise, he moved to the side and offered a place beside him. Zelda was quick to settle down, confusion churning inside her.
“The crystal will serve a dramatic purpose, once the damn hero graces us with his presence. That he doesn’t come rushing after you, Princess Zelda, is quite a curious predicament.”
She kept glancing at him, gaze wandering back and forth between his face, his hands and the pipe organ’s keyboards. If she knew one thing from celebrating the goddess's days in the temple, then playing the pipe organ was quite a difficult task.
“Then you should make the best of that leisurely break. Can you show me how to play this?” she answered in a sweet voice, knowing from his befuddled expression that she’d thrown him off-guard. “Please, King Ganondorf.”
His chuckle was its own wonderful song and the last thing she witnessed was his fingers settling on the keys, ready to launch into the foreboding and intense melody he’d played before.
Faint music reached her ears and she tilted her head, straining to catch the tune. Her eyes closed in concentration. Magic wove around her and then she was yanked around, a full body shudder wrecking her.
Zelda’s eyes snapped open, staring down at the unassuming well-worn ocarina, the blue colour already fading and flaking in places, having endured centuries in a dusty box in a forgotten shelf of Central Hyrule’s History Museum. She set it down carefully, heart hammering in her throat and blood rushing in her ear. At least she’d been conscious enough to put on gloves before touching an ancient artifact said to be brimming with long lost magic.
Magic exists, after all, she thought in awe.
Her tentative assumption proved correct – Time travel was in the realm of possibilities, living through historic events instead of reading through records written by the winners and skewing perception into their favour.
She needed to handle this with utmost care and secrecy. If the higher-ups of the museum caught wind of this, she would be fired faster than she could say ‘Bokoblin’. Yet her curiosity wasn’t sated. There had been enough hints of Zeldas having secret affairs. The evidence was hidden in the diaries shoved even deeper in the archives than the ocarina.
Fate had never been kind to her namesakes, nor the kings they’d hold affections for – no matter how doomed their relationships would turn out. Some gave up and shifted into the roles assigned to them, others fought against the wheels of fate, only to be crushed by them.
Yet one thing seemed to be a cruel constant – the princess falling for the enemy.
She carded a hand through her hair, her mind racing. What powers she’d discovered were dangerous and yet she couldn’t resist the pull. Glancing around, she checked the archive. It was empty, save for herself sitting at one of the tables, cradling a dusty ocarina in her hand.
The song wove through her thoughts, the melody ancient and familiar at the same time, bringing her a sense of comfort and heartache. It had brought her into the past in a whirlwind, making her head ache and lose her sense of self for a moment until she’d settled in the memory of a time long gone.
She closed the box without putting the ocarina back, wrapping the instrument in cloth and slipped it into her bag. No one would know that it was missing. No one ever dove that deep into the archives, except for the yearly inventory check, which was scheduled at the end of the year – enough time to put it back where it belonged, once her craving of knowledge had been satisfied.
No one questioned her, once she’d stepped out of the archive and made her way to her workdesk to prepare her guide-tour through the museum for a high school class the next day. People could book guides on chance or directly on the museum's website. Zelda was one of the most favoured guides, her time-slots always booked out way in advance. Some envied her popularity and others teased her, but there was someone else garnering as much attention as her, sometimes accompanying her on her tours. Either to annoy her or give some valuable insight.
Ganondorf Dragmire, a historian and archeologist from the Gerudo History Museum. Their establishments worked together for an exhibition about ancient Gerudo history which covered the mis-representation of Hyrule’s records, the oppression and dark splotches Hyrule’s past rulers had tried to cover and erase. Once more, Zeldas of the past had fought for the truth to be preserved.
Ganondorf popped his head into her office, just as she had sat down and had booted up her computer again,“Found your way out of the archives?”
She swiveled around in her chair with a laugh, cocking her head at him. She hadn’t seen him till now. He was dressed immaculate as always in dark dress slacks, fastened with another elaborate and delicate golden belt buckle, a cream coloured dress shirt that seemed molded to his rather impressive physique. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the tips of a tattoo just pecking out from below the sleeve on his right arm. His hair was swept up in a bun, highlighting his silvering temples. His beard was well-trimmed and kept in shape. It wasn’t the first time that she wondered what his diet and work-out routine consisted of to keep himself in such good shape.
“Are you keeping tabs on me, Mr. Dragmire?” she jested, raising an eyebrow at him. His laugh washed over her, deep and melodic. There was a quick flick of his eyes to her bag, setting her alarm bells off. Hadn’t she been as alone as she thought she’d been? Had she forgotten to remove some dust on it?
“It’s past lunch time and your tupperware wasn’t on your desk. I hope you didn’t eat it in the archives,” he said then, ever-observant.
Had she been so pre-occupied with the ocarina and her discovery? Had that launch into the past taken hours instead of minutes? It didn’t feel like she’d spent that much time in the archives.
Her stomach deemed that moment perfect to rumble loudly, answering for her. She cleared her throat and picked out her lunchbox carefully, still full of the poke bowl she’d prepared the day before.
“I can never tell how much time passes once I am in there. The archives have something magical about them, don’t you think?” She sighed at her lunchbox and then blinked, looking back at Ganondorf still leaning against the doorframe, “Don’t say you skipped lunch because you waited for me?”
He shrugged one shoulder, a faint smile on his lips, “What if I have? We can catch up now. I wanted to talk to you about your tour tomorrow. Give me a moment.”
Without waiting for her answer, he disappeared, only to return a few moments later with his own lunch. He grabbed the extra chair and rolled it beside hers, making himself comfortable.
“Wanting to hijack one again?” she teased and opened her box, digging into her food.
“Is it hijacking if you waited for me to join in? What is it about this time? Or rather, who are you guiding this time?”
“Older high school kids, they are just about to graduate and use the bit of free time they have for sight-seeing”, she answered between bites, humming in contemplation. She hadn’t picked a period yet, still debating what would catch the attention of people on the cusp of adulthood. Drama? Dry truth? One of the many war periods? Her tentative silence spoke volumes and Ganondorf leaned toward her, his chair creaking with his movement.
“Don’t tell me, Miss Nohansen has slacked off and not prepared herself? Who are you and what have you done to her?”
“Oh, shut it, Ganondorf.” She rolled her eyes, tipping her head in his direction. She was just about to shove him gently, when she realised how close he had gotten. Mirth glinted in his amber coloured eyes, the corners crinkling as he narrowed them. Zelda could count each lash, gaze flicking across his features, lingering a second too long on his lips. They pulled into an infinitismal smirk. “I have narrowed it down to a certain point in time.”
He hummed and for a moment, she thought he might lean even closer, instead he whispered, “Then do enlighten me, please. I am your ever-curious listener.”
Thankfully, Ganondorf leaned back again to dig into his lunch, watching her talk animatedly, her fork swishing through the air between her own bites as she explained, “Well, there are records that contradict itself. They talk about the very same princess, yet the pivotal moment that changed history differs from version to version. Not one time, or two, but three. Three! It is interesting as it is confusing. Which of the three is true? Are the other two fiction? Or was it to skew everything into their favours, disparaging the princess as weak?”
He hummed, giving her an approving smile. She wanted to know his opinion and perspective as it was always an enlightening experience. She was grateful that her father punched this collaboration through, even though she never wanted to rely on his status. For a split second something shifted in his gaze and it reminded her of the king playing the pipe organ, regarding Zelda with an intense stare.
“What if every outcome is true?” he suggested in a deep drawl.
Brows furrowing, she tapped her lips with her fork. If his suggestion proved to be true, then the ridiculous theories about timelines branching and converging in intervals didn’t seem as outlandish as the history community tried to paint them. It would change a lot of the past records, of understanding Hyrule’s scattered history. It would be nothing but revolutionary.
“That is impossible,” she argued, just for the sake of it. Zelda wanted to hear his arguments, giving him a side-eye.
Ganondorf snorted into his lunch and lolled his head toward her with a strange glint still lingering in his eyes, “Did you not say that the archives are magical? We disregard the existence of magic nowadays as unexplained scientific phenomena, but that is short-sighted and disrespectful in the grand scheme of the world.” He leaned toward her again, face mere inches apart. His breath brushed her face. His whisper was enticingly soft, alluring and tempting, “Magic exists, Zelda.”
“You really think so?” Her belief had cracked already after using the ocarina, built up after years of doctors and scientists writing off her dreams as nonsense and a very vivid imagination. She’d buried those memories deeply and of course they had to bubble up now.
The ocarina is a proof, is it not? It teleported you back in time. You never stopped believing.
She could still hear the pipe organ, the deep voice answering her in a mocking tone. A voice that whispered into her ear: “I do and I think you will see my point of view sooner rather than later. If you haven‘t already started believing…” A brush of his lips against the shell made her breath hitch.
Suddenly the chair creaked when Ganondorf moved away, as if struck by lightning, awkwardly clearing his throat. Zelda did so as well, fiddling with the last piece of cucumber in her box, before inhaling it.
“Let’s stop wasting time and get our tour going,” Zelda said then, turning to her computer. If her posture was a little more rigid, then he didn’t comment on it.
They stayed professional, Ganondorf keeping his distance. No need to have people spread rumours about them, what with their names already tied to historic figures. They spent the better afternoon outlining the tour through the museum, the best short clips to play in the auditorium and worked out a questionnaire for the students to work through – that one was more on their teacher, wanting to test their knowledge and if they paid attention.
Their coworkers bid them a good day and it wasn’t until nearly everyone else had left, that they stopped working. Zelda stretched her arms above her head, letting out a satisfied hum when her muscles cracked, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. Ganondorf excused himself, vanishing back into his own office. She was a bit disappointed that he left without saying goodbye. Somehow it was always Zelda who ended up closing up the museum.
Ganondorf waited at the entrance, jacket slung over his forearm, checking his phone. The setting sun gave him an ethereal glow and Zelda stopped, unsure if she should approach him. She shook her head at her own hesitancy and sauntered up to him. Ganondorf glanced up and smirked, “Thought I could offer you a ride home.”
“You really don’t have to. Is it not a detour for you?”
“I don’t mind, Zelda. Come, lock up here and then we are off.”
The ride was uneventful. They talked about everything and nothing, until Ganondorf parked before her apartment building. The elegant building had retained its old architecture with beautiful windows and columns on either side of the entrance door. It only had been modernized on the inside.
“Good night, Miss Nohansen.” Ganondorf teased. His grin gave him a boy-ish edge and she couldn’t help her giggle, shaking her head at him. This man worked in mysterious ways and his gaze settling on her bag set her a little bit on edge again.
“Good night, Mr. Dragmire,” she answered with the same lilt to her voice.
“Don’t dream too much about crystals,” he said at last as she stepped out of his sleek car. She gave him a questioning look and he waved her off, “Ah, ignore the ramblings of a tired man. Until tomorrow.”
With that, she turned, mumbling something unintelligible beneath her breath as goodbye. Ganondorf waited until she stepped into the hallway before driving off. She watched until his car was out of sight, once more wondering if he knew that she’d stolen the ocarina like a petty thief.
No, she had only borrowed it.
Zelda’d inhaled her meagre dinner of leftover onigiri and fried tofu. She sat on her couch, cross-legged, and still a little damp after a quick shower, staring at the ocarina in her hand and petting her cat Elizabeth with her other hand, clinging onto the constant purr as a background noise. Her fingers itched to play the song again, to feel the strange pull that would propel her back in time.
Could she influence where she would end up? Would it help if she thought about the time they’d worked on today?
There was only one way to find out. Her cat protested when she pulled away and stopped lavishing her with attention. Her tail swished in annoyance, ears swiveling back. Zelda murmured a soft apology and grasped the ocarina with both hands, bringing the mouthpiece to her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut on their own volition. Her fingers moved and the song filled the quiet of her living room, off-key at first, until she found the right tune.
And, yes, there it was – a tug in her gut, nay her very soul, and then her body jolted. White noise rushed in her ears, howling like the wind until it was replaced by thunder rumbling in the distance and the soft sound of rain pattering on the ground.
It felt foreboding to open her eyes to the sight of a young man fighting a monstrous boar while lightning flashed in the dark sky. It towered over the young man, horns and tusks and its eyes gleaming a bright white in the darkness. She only ever got glimpses of the monster when lightning brightened the sky. Two massive swords swung after what Zelda recognizes now as the fabled hero from that period. She watched a gruesome fight, unable to offer her aid. Fire separated her from the two opponents.
In the end the man defeated the monster. Its blood splattered onto the tower’s top floor, dark splotches that not even the rain could wash away. She stared, a hand pressed against her chest. The hero dodged and rolled out of the swings. There were too many close calls for her comfort, but the beast roared in pain, sinking onto its knees. The fire died down and gave Zelda the moment to act, lifting her hands and using her light magic to hold the beast in place.
Ganon, her mind supplied and she blinked, her energy draining fast as she instructed for the hero to strike Ganon down.
The hero’s swords shone like a beacon for a moment. He thrust the sword into the beast head and the earth shattering cry sank into her bones.
Ganon was defeated. In a last attempt he was banished and sealed away.
Zelda gasped, jerking upright on her couch, the smell of rain and blood still clinging to her nose. Elizabeth meowed in dismay, jumping from the couch to go and curl up in one of her many fluffy beds strewn around Zelda’s apartment. The ocarina nearly fell out of her hands and she adjusted her grasp around it, staring down at it.
Bits and pieces of that version of history floated to the forefront of her mind. A sorcerer from the desert had killed Hyrule’s king and usurped the crown. After seven years of a terrible reign he was defeated by a hero. That was the good version of events, a hopeful ending where Hyrule’s last stand prevailed. The hero was celebrated and lived on.
“But… there are two other versions,” she muttered, remembering Ganondorf’s words. She tapped the ocarina thoughtfully, assessing her state of mind. No headache plagued her yet and she felt fit enough to try again. Zelda didn’t want to think about the hidden implications that she could use an ancient artifact, calling forth the dormant magic resting within.
The song played once again. Zelda knew what awaited her and this time the fall through time didn’t feel as unsettling as before.
The same battlefield awaited her, the same oppressive darkness, the same monster towering over the hero. And she could only watch as the valiant knight was slain, crumbling into a heap of limbs. He lay motionless on the ground and Zelda felt fear grip her heart.
Ganon roared in triumph, lightning painting his silhouette in a terrifying flash. Then golden eyes settled on her, one bloodied blade tip trailing on the ground in a nasty screech. Those eyes felt familiar and for a moment Ganondorf’s mirthful expression flashed in her inner mind’s eye.
“You have won, Ganondorf,” she called and the beast paused in his step. His answer was a deep growl and he bridged the distance between them in one stride, leaning down toward her.
A sword clattered to the ground and his clawed fingers pinched her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Will you swear fealty to your new king? Or do you want to join the pathetic whelp you call a hero?”
Zelda took a shuddering breath, eyes slipping shut. “I—” She bowed her head in graceful defeat, “I will swear to your new kingdom.”
Suddenly she was back in her living room, thrown forward in time without a warning. There hadn’t been the faint song lulling her back into the present, nor the strange tug that always pulled her through the centuries. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, hands clammy with sweat, when she set the ocarina down on her couch table.
She tried to remember the vague passages retelling this version, but she came up short of nothing. Exhaustion crawled into her limbs, as if she’d truly been there, running down a crumbling tower and facing the bane of Hyrule herself. The memory felt far too real to be just a mere glimpse. She still felt the sting of Ganon’s claws digging into her skin.
Could she change things? Oh, it was a dangerous thought, but a tempting one all the same.
The ocarina sat innocently on her couch table. Not even in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that such power slumbered within a dusty and forgotten instrument. She picked it up once more, examining the ocarina from every angle. A part of her wanted to dive into the past again, but it was late and tomorrow would be an exciting, but exhausting day. Working with Ganondorf Dragmire turned into a gamble every time – would he deviate from the tour they had planned? Or would he follow along? Would he tease her in the quiet moments as he always wont do?
Zelda felt a flutter in her stomach, her heart beating a smidge faster. Perhaps confiding in him would work in her favour, as he seemed to be one of the few people still believing in the old ways – that magic still coursed through the veins of the people, dormant and powerful. Lost knowledge that only needed to be unearthed again.
But she paused in her musings, a tiny nagging voice telling her to keep this a secret for as long as possible. Her gaze lingered on the ocarina, a gentle, but sinister chuckle ringing in her ear.
Zelda had arrived as early as possible, greeting the cleaning staff and Malon, one of the bubblier cashiers as she made her way to her office, setting down her bag on her desk. Zelda had taken the ocarina with her, too paranoid to leave such a precious artifact at her apartment.
She went over their plan one more time, making some miniscule last minute additions. She would run them by Ganondorf, when he would arrive. Her leg jumped up and down as she scrolled up and down the guide plan, chin resting on her palm.
A hand settling on her shoulder made her flinch, looking at the person who dared to jerk her out of her thoughts. His amused chuckle washed over her and she turned toward him, ready to launch into a small tirade about frightening your coworkers in such a mean manner. Yet no words left her mouth, taking Ganondorf’s outfit in.
A neatly pressed white button down shirt, a beautiful vest with intricate patterns that were only visible up close and similar slacks like he’d worn the day before. His hair was, for once, not in a bun, but in a half updo. Zelda blinked and leaned back, giving him another once over.
“Cat got your tongue?” Ganondorf teased with a smug smirk. His gaze wandered down, an appreciative glint shining in his eyes. She crossed one leg over the other and struck a pose, fighting the smile that threatened to ruin her serious attitude.
She’d dressed a little more official as well — in a dark blazer with a matching pencil skirt and pumps, and a cream coloured blouse. In a most coincidental gesture, they’d swapped hairstyles. Her golden hair braided and pulled up into an intricate bun, finished by an intricate golden loftwing clasp. She tipped her head to the side, fluttering her lashes at him.
“You look good today, Mr. Dragmire. Taking this tour seriously, for once?” She shot back with a snicker, loving the way he narrowed his eyes at her.
“Why should I not? We’ve worked for hours on this,” Ganondorf grumbled, his gaze flicking over her face, until he focused on the clasp in her hair. If they hadn’t been so close, she would have missed his shoulders tensing up the slightest and the miniscule tick in his jaw. It should terrify her how easily she could Ganondorf by now. He motioned for her to turn her head and after a moment she obliged.
“A beautiful clasp.” His voice carried a strange lilt, something between a genuine compliment and contempt as if seeing the clasp hauled up unpleasant memories. His fingers stopped short at the loftwings wing, fingers hovering above it. Golden eyes flicked from the clasp to her face. “Where did you get such a thing?”
Zelda turned her head back, out of his hovering touch, and he dropped his hand. He schooled his expression into something neutral, until it settled back into a charming, but curious smile.
“Ah, it is passed down through generations. From mother to daughter and so on,” she explained with a wave of her hand. Her mother had been so proud, when she had handed the beautiful box containing the clasp to her. The paintjob had been reapplied, visible by the difference in the colours and one of the tiny hinges had been swapped out for a new one.
“It’s rumoured that it belonged to Hyrule’s royalty,” she said a little quieter and Ganondorf hummed. She shrugged one shoulder and rose out of her chair, forcing him to take a step back, “My father claims our line can be traced way back to ye olden times as he would say. I believe it is just to gain a boost in popularity for the next election. He wants to drag me into politics.”
“Don’t tell me you want to leave the museum behind?” The incredulity in his voice made her laugh, as if he couldn’t quite see her in it.
„Oh, no, no no. I love the dusty archive shelves and my desk far too much! You won’t get rid of me so easily, Mr. Dragmire.“ They shared a private smile, Zelda jerking herself out of it sooner than Ganondorf, remembering that she wanted to show him the additions.
His gaze lingered on her more than on the computer screen. Although by the end, he agreed to the additions, proposing some of his own he‘d thought about since yesterday. They still had some time to kill before the tour, opting to wait at the entrance hall and watching the first few visitors trickle in.
The teacher was the first one to arrive, paying the tickets and the tour in advance and Malon pointed at the two of them with a wide grin. The teacher was a stocky woman with round glasses perched on her noise, brown hair bound into a bun, and a beaming smile, clearly happy that she‘d booked the guide tour.
Zelda and Ganondorf shook her hand, her grip surprisingly strong. Her jovial, but also slightly nervous laugh bounced around the entrance. They answered some of her questions — if the students could roam the museum freely after the tour, if she was allowed to ask questions as well and how long they estimated the tour length. After that was said and done, the first students arrived, either alone or in little groups, gazing around the entrance hall in awe. The teacher excused herself and handed out the tickets, while checking the list and crossing off those who‘d arrived.
“I hope they will listen to us,” she murmured, still feeling nervous after all these years. Ganondorf on the other hand was calm, watching the group mingle and chatter, their voices amplified by the hall. One couldn’t pick out what they were saying, but that was the charm of it all. Ganondorf leaned down toward her.
“You have a way of captivating the people, Miss Nohansen,” he murmured with a smirk. She waved him off, unable to tease back. Everything she’d wanted to say had a flirtatious undertone, so she stayed quiet. “Ah, seems the last students arrived,” he checked the time in his wristwatch with a practiced flick of his wrist, “Just on time, as well. Now, Miss Nohansen, the museum is yours.”
He made a grand sweeping gesture, making her laugh at his behavior. Warmth spread inside her chest, and as she turned toward the group, she clapped her hands to gather their complete attention.
This, she knew, would be another great tour.
Perhaps she had to rectify her first assumption, when she walked toward the last point in their tour, stopping before two statues. Time hasn’t been kind to the stone, the elements of nature weathering down the colours until only the blank stone remained. Pieces were missing — the head of what fellow historians presumed to be the hero, although the broken spot was far too clean to be a product of bad manhandling. The statue of the queen or princess, there was still a debate going on, was mostly intact, but her right hand was missing as well, sporting the same clean cut as the hero statue.
Although Zelda’s unspoken hunch pointed toward another person of royalty kneeling before the woman.
Ganondorf made up the rear of the group, keeping a few troublemakers in check that wanted to bail from the tour and explore on their own. He’d reminded them once that they were free to do so after the tour.
“We have had ample talk about the different versions of one historic figure and this display of two people is the culmination of those three different versions,” Zelda began and motioned toward the statues.
Memories flashed before her - a knight clad in green, bending his knee in veneration, hand pressed to his chest as he vowed to protect the land. They were surrounded by the rubble of a crumbled tower, dark sky clearing after the storm had passed, after the monster had been slain and banished. Then it overlapped with another. The very same princess stood before a proud king who bowed his head, taking her right hand in his and pressing a kiss to it. Golden eyes bored into her, through time and space and Zelda blinked, having fallen silent, feeling her world shift on its axis.
Ganondorf reacted quickly, stepping beside her and forward to shield her from the curious eyes of over a dozen students and their teacher.
“It begs the question what those two represent. It was and is, to this day, a topic discussed heatedly among historians. We would like to know what you think and know how you would interpret the current statues,” Ganondorf said, giving the statues a cursory glance before settling onto the young people. Some stuck their heads together, whispering animatedly, others looked like they tried to remember what they’d discussed in school and during the tour. A hylian girl with blond twin pigtails lifted her hand tentatively.
“Oh, I always believed it to be the hero and the princess, like all those fairytales. It is quite romantic,” she said shyly.
A few others threw in their opinions, some agreed others mused that it also just could have been a random knight.
“There are also very few who have a different theory. A king showing his respect for the princess,” Ganondorf suggested. Either it was the light playing tricks on her, or she slowly slipped into madness, but he had looked at her when saying that. “I will give you one last food for thought — which version is the real historic event and which is a fabrication? Or are all correct?”
The students broke out into murmurs, a cacophony of voices clashing as they discussed this. Zelda tuned everything out, gaze landing on a random mosaic square on the stone floor. The ocarina sat in her bag, far away from her to be able to influence her waking thoughts like that, yet it felt like a consequence of her actions, a drawback in using ancient magic.
Her heart still skipped a beat. It was the discovery of the century nonetheless. A touch to her upper arm jerked her back into the present and she gazed at Ganondorf’s concerned face, slightly leaning down.
“Are you feeling well, Miss Nohansen?” he asked and glanced back at the dispersing class, small groups of students trudging off to explore the rest of the museum. Few stayed behind, heads bowed together. Had she been so lost in her thoughts that she‘d missed Ganondorf bringing the tour to an end?
Oh, she owed him a drink, or a coffee, depending on the man‘s mood. Somehow, this moment felt significant, even though she couldn’t quite place a finger on it. Her grateful smile was barely there and for a split second she thought she heard the faint whistle of an ocarina.
“No, I need some fresh air. But thank you for your concern. If you will excuse me,” Zelda said in a hurry and left quickly, rushing back to her office to snatch her bag. Lunch would be spent at the fountain decorating the museum’s entrance.
Was insanity truly a side-effect of using magic?
After her lunchbreak, she searched for Ganondorf, but he was nowhere to be found. Upon returning to her desk, she found a little post-it stuck to her computer screen and a keychain on her desk. It was the Gerudo Crest, finished with gold paint, glittering innocently.
I hope this little gift will make you feel better. - G.
She plucked the post-it from her screen and shook her head with a fond chuckle. It was uncanny how easily he clocked if she was off-foot or unwell. Then she fastened the keychain to her keys. As Ganondorf probably had another tour in the afternoon, she had no way of saying thank you in person. Sneaking into his little office, she repaid him, writing on a little post-it ,You did not gift me a keychain from the museum shop, did you? But thank you, it fits with my keys.’ and stuck it to his screen, slinking back to her little domain.
Zelda left work earlier, having finished her load for the day. Her bag felt heavier, as if the ocarina wanted to make its presence known. She clutched the straps tighter, determined to get home as fast as possible.
In the end, she found herself back on her couch, balancing the ocarina in her lap while her freshly brewed coffee cooled down on the couch table. Elizabeth had gotten her scritches and attention, now laying curled up beside her. Even just the swivel of her ears felt like she judged Zelda.
Her fingers itched to play the song that haunted her mind. But she held back — the first three drops had no consequences as far as Zelda could tell. It wasn’t foreseeable what would happen if she changed the trajectory of events.
But there was also the ever-burning question of what if?
Throwing caution and sanity to the wind once more, she played the ocarina. It was strange how she’d gotten used to the sensation of falling through time. She needed a moment to settle, eyes closed as the fragrant smell of tea curled around her nose. After a deep inhale, Zelda opened her eyes.
Across her sat a proud Gerudo King, clad in imposing black armour, smirk firmly in place. The delicate teacup looked comically small in his hand, yet he savoured the tea with grace and poise, placing the cup back on the saucer with care. The salon was bathed in an eerie hue, giving everything a dreamy edge as if the situation was just that – a dream.
Zelda watched the man shift in his chair, getting into a more comfortable position, placing his cheek on his closed fist. Amber eyes wandered up and down, his smirk widening a fraction. She had to wait until he said something, as she still tried to figure out which moment she’d barged into, having the slightest hunch.
“Two against one seems a little unfair, don’t you think, princess?” he said with a sweet lilt in his voice. “The Triforce bearers ought to work together. The goddesses blessed us, after all.”
Ah, the era of Twilight, Zelda thought to herself, straightening her posture. She took her own cup of tea and blew the steam away, lowering her gaze so her lashes fluttered when she regarded him with a calculating gaze.
In history, the princess had refused his proposal. In the end this King Ganondorf had been slain by the Hero of Twilight in a gruesome battle. Her heart hammered up into her throat, blood rushing in her ears as she came to a decision that would perhaps change the ending of this particular event.
“You are not wrong,” she began, a smile slowly spreading on her lips, “We should work together, Ganondorf. For the betterment of Hyrule.”
His eyes widened a fraction, surprise colouring his features, before he schooled them into a pleased smile. His fingers drummed against the armrest. A deep contemplative hum filled the silence as if he needed to consider her assent, judging if it was a ploy to lower his guard. But Zelda meant it, holding his gaze with quiet confidence and a charming smile of her own. She took a languid sip of her tea, a spicy notion spreading on her tongue which made her hum in appreciation.
“The usurper from the Twilight is a thorn in your side, is he not?” she asked, playing her last trump card that would secure his trust, offering her aid to slay a common enemy. Ganondorf threw his head back and laughed, looking back at her with an amused smile and devilish mirth glinting in his eyes.
He leaned forward in his chair, answering with a purr that would haunt her sweetest dreams, “What are you proposing, Zelda? I am all ears for your enlightening suggestions.”
Her answer was a delighted snicker, finally relaxing into her chair. She gave him a long look, heat of a different kind spreading throughout her body, “Secure your legitimacy first. Then we have a hero to inform and an usurper to slay.”
The last thing she saw was Ganondorf rising to his feet with measured grace, eyes glimmering with now revealed hunger. Zelda inhaled deeply, slinking down her couch with a thundering heart and warmth pulsing between her closed thighs. Her head swam and she clutched it, a soft groan falling from her lips.
Her imagination ran wild, picturing what happened after her departure – Ganondorf taking Zelda’s hand, giving it a kiss, before pulling her to her bedchambers to seal the deal. Lips that would find each other, explore and caress, bite and kiss, taste and pleasure.
Zelda’s fingers slipped into her trousers, caressing her slickening folds with growing vigour. Moans accompanied the images in her head – a king burying his face between soft thighs, tasting their victory. She rocked against her fingers, whimpering as she threw her head back, circling her sensitive nub in desperate swipes. The image shifted until it wasn’t a king, but an eager historian savouring her lust, papers and office supplies pushed from her desk.
No one, but her judgmental cat, knew that his name fell from her lips like a longing secret came to light when she climaxed. Slumping back on her couch, she stared at the ocarina, biting her lip to ground her back in reality. As tempting as diving back in was, she’d done enough for one day.
The changes happened gradually – exhibits displayed, that she’d never seen or accounted for, history passages on the Era of Twilight shifting to Zelda’s favorable outcome. Ganondorf behaved a little stranger and a little more stand-offish, blocking her attempts to eat lunch together with the excuse of more workshops he offered, tours, increasing workload in general. Yet he would always soften and console her, promising her next time.
The keychain hadn’t changed and relief flooded her when she’d checked the morning after her fourth dive into the past.
She greeted Malon with a smile. The young woman waved at her and then Zelda decided on a whim to pull her into small talk. Malon wore a nice baby blue dress with puffy short sleeves and a seagull clip in her hair – an odd choice in Zelda’s opinion, because she knew that Malon loved horses above any other animal.
“I haven’t seen Quino around these past days,” she said, matter of factly, leaning against the counter. Quino’s morning shift would have been today, and unless he wasn’t on holiday, he’d never miss it. He was a friendly, but observant security guard.
“Quino?” Malon asked as she booted up her computer and prepared the cash register, throwing her a weird glance.
“Quino, one of our security? Sweet smile, purple hair, dimples in his cheeks when he laughs? You have been making eyes at him, Malon,” Zelda inquired, her stomach beginning to churn as the hairs on the back of her neck raised.
Malon looked at her properly, confusion knitting her brows as if she had said something outlandish. The woman shook her head, “Never heard of him. Have you been drinking too much Noble Pursuit that you forgot my name? It’s Marin. The M wasn’t too far off, though.”
Zelda blinked at her, cold rushing through her body followed by heat, making her head sway. She masked her mounting fear with an embarrassed laugh, giving in to Marin’s suggestion. After that, she left quickly, bursting into her office and closing her door with her heart plummeting to her stomach.
She needed to sit. Her chair creaked when she dropped into it heavily.
Had she erased Quino’s existence? Malon’s? Had she shifted their lives in such ways, that they never started working in the museum to begin with? In her fear, she booted up her computer, checking timetables and currently running exhibitions – the Gerudo one stayed mostly the same, but a few of the workshops had changed their theme from one day to the other.
Did it take time until these changes happened? Had the past slowly altered instead of instantly? She’d been so lost in her thoughts, that she missed Ganondorf entering her office and dropping a coffee cup on her desk with a ‘Good Morning.’ Zelda almost jumped in her chair, feeling like a flighty cat, ready to bolt and never be seen again.
Ganondorf laughed at her behaviour, leaning against the desk. He sipped his own coffee, watching her with a strange clarity.
He knew, he knew. Heknewheknewheknew, her mind blared.
Then his gaze shifted to her keys, the Gerudo crest keychain winking up at them. His smile gained something genuine, losing its teasing edge.
“Are you alright?”
Zelda looked up at him, before she shook her head, admitting in a small voice, “A bit rattled. I didn’t sleep well these past days.” Naughty images flooded her mind again the longer she looked at him, heat crawling up her cheeks. She avoided his gaze.
“Not the pleasant kind?” he inquired with a purr, hiding his grin with the rim of his cup. She was just reaching for her cup, when she nearly knocked it over, almost causing another accident she had no need for in her current mood. Zelda cleared her throat, peering up at him.
“Hoping that you were part of them?” she threw back at him, heat making her pointed ears burn. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. There was no saving herself from this situation and Ganondorf latched onto her predicament gleefully, the Oh falling from his lips far too delighted and knowing. She had no idea what made her say it in the first place.
Meanwhile, Ganondorf made himself a little bit more comfortable against her desk, crossing one ankle over the other. He watched her with keen interest now, a shit-eating grin on his lips.
“Now I am intrigued,” he said, taking another sip. He was in no hurry. Zelda cursed her loose tongue and reached for her cup, drinking slowly to give herself some time. It didn’t really help and she cleared her throat.
“What if I had nightmares? Then you wouldn’t say the same thing,” Zelda murmured, but she didn’t expect his dark chuckle, nor the way he leaned down toward her, placing his cup on her desk.
“But isn’t it thrilling when a supposed nightmare twists into something deliciously provocative? That subconscious longing reaches even the deepest dreams?”
He bracketed her in, mirth falling away to reveal an earnestness she hadn’t expected from him. Those amber eyes drifted to her lips and she could see his pupils dilating, before holding her gaze.
Had she shifted some things in their interpersonal relationship as well? Despite her worries, her treacherous heart fluttered at that.
“They were pleasant,” she admitted in a quick breath, adding lamely, “The dreams that is.”
His satisfied grin made her heart jump. He murmured, “Good. May I?”
He’d gotten even closer, breath fanning her lips, and she nodded, brain short circuiting when his lips descended upon hers in a surprisingly hungry kiss. Her chair nearly rolled away and she rose to her feet, never breaking the kiss as Ganondorf pulled her in. She all but forgot time and their coffee, sinking into the sensations of hands on her body, roaming her back and waist and thighs, lips and tongue spiraling her into heat. She dove in whenever they parted, her moans being swallowed by Ganondorf.
He nipped at her lips, reluctant to stop what they were doing, before they crossed even more lines. He touched their foreheads and licked his lips to chase her taste and somehow that tiny gesture made her heart soar even more than their little make-out session.
A rough laugh tumbled from his lips, “It’s about damn time. Although it is quite a shame what had happened with that guard Quino and sweet Malon.”
She stared at him. Her scattered brain needed a moment to catch up with his words and she hoped she’d schooled her expression into one of confusion rather than the shock that was running down her spine in a cold sweat.
“I have no idea what you are talking about. Do you mean Marin? She is a sweetheart,” Zelda lied, placing a hand on his chest. Ganondorf cradled her closer. Something stiff pressed against her thigh and his lips brushed hers in a featherlight kiss, just the right amount of tease that awakened her yearning for more.
“Hm, then I might remember something wrong,” he whispered, giving her hips one last squeeze before extricating himself, wishing her a fruitful day with that mean smirk of his. He picked up his coffee and left her office — just like that.
Zelda stared after him, having come to one conclusion.
He knew about her meddling.
Another week passed. Nothing had changed further, as far as Zelda was aware. She’d soaked up the changes of the past for her tours, and that she didn’t fumble the facts, and avoided Ganondorf as best as she could, glad to be so booked out. It was the same for Ganondorf, setting up workshops and tours and at times they just saw the other in passing.
The infuriating thing was that she missed using the ocarina, catching herself humming the tune and almost caving in. She couldn’t meddle any further, she told herself. Yet, a tiny voice inside her head said: Just one more time. One more time won’t hurt, right?
So, after the long day and an equally long shower she settled onto her couch. It almost felt like some sort of ritual, setting a cup of coffee down to keep her awake just a little longer. The ocarina hummed with magic as if it had waited for her return, for her eager mind to dip back again.
She placed the mouthpiece against her lips, closing her eyes and after a deep exhale the haunting Song of Time echoed in her living room. A smile edged onto her lips when she fell, heart soaring high. She couldn’t explain why it felt right to use the ocarina, that it invoked a melancholy inside unlike anything else.
Zelda opened her eyes, standing in an open air hallway, slender intricate columns framing the garden filled with countless Sundelions shifting in a gentle breeze. The air smelled fresh and she took a deep breath, smile widening as she leaned against one column. She enjoyed the moment of quiet, of serenity until heavy footfalls announced the presence of someone walking up to her.
The amused drawl sent a pleasant and fearful shiver down her spine, her eyes drifting shut in resignation, “It is a miracle to find the lady on her own. I don’t think we have really made our acquaintance yet.”
She half turned toward the man, giving him a coy smile. He bowed his head, charming demeanour turned up to eleven, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Zelda.”
Zelda twisted around fully, giving her best girlish snicker when he took her hand and kissed it, the tip of his tongue licking her skin, “The pleasure is all mine, King Ganondorf.”
“Perhaps we should know each other a bit better over some spiced tea? If I am not imposing on you, that is…” he suggested, his voice dropping into an alluring pitch. Zelda took a deep calming breath, continuing to play the coy maiden. Her fingers twitched in his hold.
And when she answered him with a lovely purr of her own, his smirk was triumphant, “Oh, you are not! I would love to.”
She snickered when he guided her through the hallways, caution forgotten that this man was dangerous, that she had warned her ancestors.
Zelda blinked her eyes open, tugging at her shirt's collar, heat curling in her nether region. She wanted to experience what happened after that impromptu meeting, recklessly playing the ocarina again.
This time her fall was over quickly. Her bare shoulders and ass touched roughly polished wood, the strapless Zonai dress a bunched up mess around her middle. Moans fell from her lips with each deep stroke, each thrust into her warmth. Ganondorf watched her with hunger, a smirk spreading on his lips when Zelda cried out at particularly well placed thrusts that made pleasure burn brightly through her veins.
She clutched the edge of the table, canting her hips into his ministrations. One of his hands cupped her breasts, rolling and kneading them with abandon. They lost themselves in the other, focused on their pleasure until Zelda dragged Ganondorf with her over the edge.
“Our partnership will be perfect,” he murmured afterward, bending down to kiss her deeply, hoisting her thigh up.
“Oh yes, you had some convincing arguments.”
She felt his smirk against her lips, mirroring it with one of her own, before delving into another kiss to forget the world around them.
Zelda exhaled, unwilling to open her eyes to stare at her apartment ceiling, bereft of his warmth and touch. Yet she had to with an empty feeling, as if she had left behind something of herself. She pushed the questions away of what would have changed after her intervention, how many people’s lives she’d erased or altered.
Was Ganondorf still a historian? Was she still one? The ocarina sat innocently in her lap, so that should be proof enough.
She would know, come morning. For better or worse
It wasn’t her alarm that woke her up, but her doorbell. It rang with an aggressive insistence as someone pressed the button without lifting their finger, a continuous blare that jerked her upright in her bed. Confused, she glanced at her alarm clock – it was way past 10 am.
She cursed, stumbling out of her bed, reaching for a morning robe to pull it. She tied the belt around her middle quickly, appeasing the person that still rang the bell as if their life depended on it. Zelda peeked through the peephole. It was Ganondorf, who had woken her up so rudely and his expression was dark.
Zelda unlocked her door, giving her keys barely a glance and noticing that something was missing. But what it was she couldn’t assess, nor ponder, because as soon as she opened the door he barged into her hallway like a storm. Her alarm bells went off and before she could even say good morning, she ended up pressed against the wall.
“What. Have. You. Done?!” he snarled into her face, mere inches apart. His golden eyes burned with molten heat, a madness shimmering in them which hadn’t been there before. He behaved like a caged animal, grabbing her shoulders hard.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she cried back, not backing down or cowering in fear.
“You are unraveling everything, Zelda,” he pressed between grit teeth. “Where is the ocarina?”
Her heart thundered in her chest, blinking at him without saying a word. Her reaction was too slow and he let go of her, marching further into her apartment, calling after him: “Last I checked, it was on the couch table in the living room.”
She rushed beside him and into her living room at first, letting out a quiet sigh of relief when she spotted the ocarina still sitting in the same spot on the low table, where she’d left it.
“You have to change everything back to how it was,” Ganondorf announced with a hard glare and she stared back at him, noticing his appearance. He was dressed in a proper suit with a matching tie, golden handcuffs formed like the Gerudo Crest. His hair was way shorter than she remembered, but his beard had the same trim as before. She looked him up and down, brows knitting together.
“How do you know about the ocarina? What did you mean by ‘unraveling everything’?” she asked instead of doing what he said.
“Because,” he growled, “You are not the only one capable of using this little artifact. I am well acquainted with its powers… and its consequences. We can be lucky that you are still in possession of it.”
Zelda stared at him. Then at the ocarina, then back at him. He seemed to take pity on her, letting out an exasperated breath. He sat down on her couch, moving some pillows to the side she had no recollection of buying and picked up the ocarina, weighing it in his hand.
“Before you meddled,” he said and shot her a nasty glare when she sat down beside him, adjusting her robe that nearly slipped from her shoulder, “I had found the best outcome. Neither of us was involved in politics, but able to make a difference nonetheless with our work.”
A terrible realisation trickled in, her gaze staying on Ganondorf and listening to his revelations. He continued with a wistful tone, his anger dissipating, “Do you know why it is so dangerous to travel back in time? One wrong move and the present as you know it will change and vanish. You keep your memories, because the goddesses or whomever enchanted this little thing have a sick sense of humour…”
She wanted to say something to soothe him, but her voice failed her. Zelda could only look at him with shock and wide eyes.
“It was perfect. I couldn’t win every fight, nor charm myself into the princess’ favour every time. You win and you lose, but it had been worth it in the end,” there his gaze flicked toward her, a hard edge glinting in his eyes, “Until a pesky little historian thought to fix perceived wrong-doings.”
Zelda licked her dry lips, noticing his gaze lingering on them. Then she asked quietly, “How did you know I used the ocarina?”
“Once you touch the veil of time, you are out of its confines — you do not forget. Tell me, Zelda, do you remember exhibits that hadn’t been in the gallery? Text book passages describing moments differently? The cashier?”
Everything he recounted, and more, plucked a cord inside, a memory that didn’t fit into the puzzle of their current reality. She bit her lip and then slid closer to Ganondorf, touching the top of the ocarina.
“I remember.”
“Then we will fix this mess, before you turn us into strangers. Being back into politics…” He grumbled something beneath his breath, face darkening for a second. Zelda made a note to herself, that once they’d fixed the mess she created, she would ask him about everything.
“Do you trust me, Zelda?” Ganondorf said in a low voice, holding her gaze.
“Yes, of course.” Her quick answer elicited a lovely chuckle from him, one that was genuine. Warmth returned to his eyes, the corners crinkling with his smile.
“I will play the song and you will guide us.” In a tender gesture that was so at odds with his previous behaviour, he twined their fingers, his body heat seeping into her. Her robe slipped down her shoulder like a paid actor, golden eyes lingering on her bare skin.
The familiar tune snapped her to attention and for the first time she wasn’t falling alone. The scenery before her felt like a dejavu, looking out on a sea of Sundelions. Ganondorf found her, just like before, but this time she recognized him. Even if it tore at her heart, and at the delicious memory of what came after, she blocked the king's advances.
Again, the song pulled them along into the next and like that they fixed her changes, painstakingly slow until Zelda found herself in front of the monster again. Here, the princess of eons ago had refused to bow her head. She’d forgotten this bit of information.
When they returned to the present she was met with a familiar sight of Ganondorf, hair tumbling down his shoulders in messy waves, wearing a nice button down shirt instead of a suit. Her morning outfit had stayed the same — her tastes were apparently the same of every possible version of herself.
“Did we do it?” Zelda murmured, squeezing his hand hard. Then she bolted up, blurting ,book!’ and dashed away to get a history book or two on the eras. She returned and dropped them unceremoniously between them on the couch. Her fingers shook when she flicked to the marked passages. Ganondorf hummed, giving her a long side glance, until she felt heat crawl into her cheeks. Wordlessly, they bend closer, reading the passages — Nothing of a princess surrendering to a monster, collaborating with a scorn king or working against the people that had welcomed a lost soul into their ranks.
“We did it,” she murmured in disbelief, repeating herself until she threw herself into Ganondorf’s arms, who nearly dropped the ocarina. She melted against him, loving the way how one arm curled around her lower back. His lips brushed her ear.
The soft whisper sent a thrill down her spine, “I am still mad at you, Zelda.”
She wanted to argue, tipping her head in his direction, but the heated gaze let every refute die on her tongue. Instead, a smirk spread on her lips as her hands slid from his neck to his chest. They crept toward the buttons of his shirt, undoing one after the other slowly.
“Then I should apologize. And I think I know how to appease you,” she murmured and pressed a kiss to his exposed chest, looking up at him from beneath fluttering lashes. Ganondorf cupped the side of her face, his grin mirroring her own. He pulled her up and properly into his lap, one hand sliding up her thigh and beneath her nightgown.
This moment turned into the sweetest torture, after she had settled between his spread legs and had tasted him with lips and tongue. He repaid her in kindness — with his hands, his lips and tongue, bringing her close to the edge, only to pull her away from it again. It wasn’t until she’d turned into a begging mess that he took pity on her. Her world exploded into stars, her hand cupping the back of his head as she pressed his face against her pulsing need.
His hunger for her, the sweep of his tongue, the low growl vibrating against her flesh — it made her whimper and arch her back, wanting more.
“Ganondorf,” she called breathlessly, a soft laugh spilling from her lips, “I have a really nice and comfortable bed. A couch is a poor substitute, don’t you think?”
“Skipping our work, aren’t we?” he chuckled, mirth dancing in his eyes and she cursed at the sight of him between her spread legs, feasting on her lazily. Pleasure crawled down her spine, warmth spreading again.
“Just this once,” Zelda sighed. They should call and inform the museum of their absence, but work was the furthest thing on her mind now.
“We have to destroy the ocarina.”
Her fingers stilled on his skin. She shifted in the comfortable hold of his arms, lifting her head from his chest that had served as a pillow. Her hair spilled down her front and Ganondorf pushed it back over her shoulder, his gaze trailing down her bare body. The warmth of his palm, cupping her flesh and kneading it gently, derailed her incoming protest.
“Do not try to distract me,” she chided him weakly. “We can’t just destroy it. The ocarina is a precious artifact. What if the museum wants to display it in an exhibition regarding that princess’ era?”
“There is an easy solution: we claim it as either lost or too damaged to be displayed. The museum can commission a replica,” he answered her with infuriating confidence, slipping one hand behind his head. His palm glided down along her side and up again, brushing the swell of one breast. “We cannot risk someone trying to experiment with it. Especially no one with a penchant for magic.”
His caress left a burning trail in its wake, a phantom touch which made her yearn.
She gave him an unimpressed look, bending down to kiss him. His hand slipped around and cradled her head, rumbling appreciatively against her lips. Their chests pressed together and she arched her body into his wandering hand.
She could play unfair as well, her own fingers finding their way to his growing desire. Zelda swallowed his groan, “Or we hide it even deeper in the archives, go with the claim that we can’t display it anymore. I would rather keep it than destroy it. Is there no way to drain an object's magic?”
It took him a moment to answer, hips rocking up into her touch, “Perhaps there is one. One, that we would need to figure out first.”
“It is an ample opportunity to work with me and you are not jumping on the chance?” she gasped and tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth. His fingers dug into her ass cheek, dragging her closer.
“I already have enough chances,” he groaned, his hands settling on her hips when she made herself comfortable in his lap, welcoming him back into her warmth. He grinned at her, all sharp edges and hungry delight, “For now I would rather enjoy our free day some more.”
He rolled them around, hoisting her thigh up to sink a little deeper, and he settled with a satisfied moan. Zelda pulled him down, silencing him with deep kisses.
She agreed with his sentiment.
In the end the ocarina turned into a mess of broken shards littered across her couch table. Her cat watched everything from her cat tree, a silent judge. Ganondorf’s assumption that the instrument had some sort of protection spell woven in proved wrong — or perhaps so much time had passed that the spell lost its power.
It hurt her soul to destroy something so unique and beautiful, but it was for the better. Ganondorf relaxed as they discarded the shards and he promised he would pull some strings that they could smuggle in a replica. He had an acquaintance with a certain set of skills and it piqued her curiosity.
One day he would have to tell her more about himself, about the lengths he had gone through to end up with this version of themselves.
Her phone screen blinked to life with a message from Malon.
You won’t believe this. I asked Quino out and he said yes! I have to thank you, Zel. Enjoy your day off.
A ton of emojis followed and Zelda smiled, before turning toward Ganondorf and giving him a telling glance.
“You turned this into a free day, didn’t you?”
He laughed good-naturely, head thrown back. Then Ganondorf regarded her with an amused expression, amber glinting with a wonderful warmth, “Is that a complaint, my dear?”
Zelda shook her head, inching back closer toward him, “Far from it. I quite like having you around, my king, my commander, my partner.”
“Good, I have no intention of leaving soon.”