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The first request his bride makes when Ganondorf asks her what she would like for her new quarters is flowers. She doesn't specify what kind nor does she make any demand, be it color, origin, or even number. Just flowers.
It is her only request.
Three weeks have passed since their arrival, since the day his people welcomed her as their queen. She has not asked for a single other thing, nor has she repeated that request. Perhaps she thinks he has forgotten, perhaps she doesn't want to impose. This union was not one of her choice but of duty instead, and though Gan believes that her clever mind will let her thrive regardless of where she puts her roots, he understands the reason behind her quietude.
Flowers. His sweet wife wants flowers.
She enjoys the water gardens best in all the palace, more than even the library — many a day he would find her in some secluded corner, sitting upon a mossbed with one of his shawls wrapped around her pale shoulders and a book in her slender hands, surrounded by a variable number of palace cats. Sometimes she is working on her sewing or weaving on her handloom, and sometimes she is singing to the cats and the koi and the children that have shyly begun to approach her. She frequents the fountain pavilion, makes small talk with the gardeners, learns their names and their stories. On sunset on the fiftieth day after they were wed, she takes him by the hand and leads him to a secluded corner of the gardens and straddles his hips, and rides him long into the night as the water babbles beside them, and flowers bloom and fill the air with their fragrance.
He offers her one, a deep violet lotus near the same color as her eyes, and she smiles and cradles it in her hands, and whispers sweet nothings against his skin. She carriers that flower in her hair for many days after.
She loves the garden, and the garden loves her. And Gan is determined to give her what she wants.
"This will take time," architect Ulra tells him when he shows her his sketches. "Many months of hard work, and many hands."
"You will have both," he promises, "and myself, if necessary. I can mold the stone to your wishes, coax the water to flow. I have already sent to Hyrule and Holodrum for materials." Whether they would respond is yet unclear — the king had been so determined to get rid of his second-born daughter that he might ignore the letters reminding him of her existence, but Zelda seemed to get along well with the women in her family, and he trusts they will deliver on the promise of their union. "Once we have the seedlings in place, Zelda will be able to sing them to life."
Ulra frowns. She's some ten years older than him, gray around the temples, with a kind, open face and sturdy arms. "Not a surprise, then."
Gan smiles. "Like you said, this will take time, and I dislike making her wait. The first part will be a surprise, the difficult part, but something tells me she would rather be involved. She's clever, wise, and kind. I only want to make her happy, give her something she will treasure for many years."
"She, and every bright heart that comes after her. You are planning something to rival the Gardens, rajena." A smile spreads across the architect's face. "And I will like to see it done. Consider me convinced."
"I thought you might say that."
Ulra laughs. "Have I become so predicable in my old age? I still remember when you were but a seedling yourself, running 'round the palace like it already belonged to you… And here you are now, a tree fully grown. How time flies." She smiles, and wipes a tear of joy from the corner of her eye. "Tell me, boy, do you truly believe that it's the building that will be the difficult part, and not all the other madnesses you have concocted?"
"I have faith, always," he replies, so very pleased with her agreement. "And I might happen to know someone just right for the task. Several someones, in fact…"
Zelda awaits him in the royal apartment with a book in one hand and a pen in the other, scribbling something in the journal laid between her legs. Translation, Gan figures — his dear wife seems determined to make up for her poor education with these self-led lessons, though her Geld'o is already better than that of most Hylian merchants that trade across the border. He watches her for some time, admiring the lovely shape of her body as she writes, feeling desire stir within him, then quietly approaches, kneeling behind her and kissing the top of her head in greeting.
To her credit, Zelda neither startles nor pushes him away. "Good evening, husband."
"Good evening, kahnili'v." He peers into her notebook, and grins when he finds that her subject today is not histories nor prose, but love poetry. His sweet princess, an eternal romantic beneath her cool, collected facade. "I hope you are not wroth with me for missing your company all of today. I had important business that required me to ride into the city." Several well-spent hours at the architects' guildhall and a small fortune signed away that she doesn't need to know or worry about, because he is a good husband who wants to make his precious wife happy — and if things go according to plan, the whole of the city as well.
"Not at all," Zelda says, drawing him away from the schematics still spread across the desk in his mind and back to reality, back to the softness of her body curled against his. "Your sister sat with me during the Hours, helped me practice my Geld'o and my weaving. Funnily enough, she said something similar…"
"She knows me well." He kisses her brow and her temple next, savoring the sweet aroma of her hair oils, then gently takes her chin so he can turn her head to the side and sample her lips. "Mind not the Hours, sweet girl. I am here now, and I am yours."
Zelda smiles and rolls her eyes, and though there is nothing special about it, he still finds it charming — much more than the oh-so-proper demeanor she displayed upon their introduction, a caged bird held beneath the shadow of her father and illustrious elder sister. This is how he likes her best, Gan finds: playful, casual, with that twinkle in her violet eyes and none of the strict decorum of her birthplace, with that steady edge in her voice, unrepentant in her kindness. He kisses her again, one arm moving to circle her waist, and she sighs against his mouth in a way that always seems to drive him mad. One kiss becomes two, three, four, her soft breaths ghosting his skin when they finally part.
She shines so beautifully, her cheeks pinking, her lips lightly bruised and impossible to resist. He caresses them with his thumb, hand easily cradling her cheek, tendrils of hair teasing his knuckles.
"You will be the death of me one day," he says, and his last kiss is chaste and clean. Later, he will indulge later. "Oh, kahnili'v."
"I would call you a flatterer, rajena'v, if I didn't know you were sincere." Zelda sits back, putting some distance between them, and though she is once more the calm and collected princess, the flush has not yet faded. She still rests against him, still drapes her slender arms over one of his. "Did your meeting go well? You mentioned it was important."
Gan hums, nosing her hair once more. To him she always smells of flowers. Today's choice is jasmine. "There was some difficulty," he admits, "but I believe I presented my case well enough to convince them. Work should begin soon, if the Mothers allow it." He doesn't ask about her translations, knowing she mislikes it (he only suggested to edit her notes once and she is yet to forgive him for it, and he values his place in her bed more than any entertainment found in teasing her), and instead turns his head towards the basket on the table. "What is today's bounty?"
"Mountain blossoms," she replies, and that smile he has begun to love spread across her face, makes her shine. "Actually, it was one of your Saiev that brought it — said she'd been stationed at the Eighth's sword when she heard about… about us, and me, that she gathered them on her way back home. No seeds unfortunately, and I haven't gotten to asking about any cuttings, but they are beautiful. Would you like to see them?"
Gan nods, always eager to indulge her. He doesn't know how, but Zelda's humble request somehow managed to escape the confines of their quarters and spread across the city over the course of a single week, and from the to every corner of his realm. The king's bride wants flowers, he hears every time he leaves the palace, people whispering her name whether he reveals his face or not. Every day the palace will receive a basket or two, or little ilmaha will come out during court proceedings to present his lady with their findings, or a Ramal will pass them by in the halls and press yet another handful into her hands and continue on with their task with nary a word. Zelda doesn't understand it but she is grateful all the same, planting whatever she can and preserving the rest between the heavy books that now populate her private library. It makes her happy, and Gan treasures everything that can bring a smile to her face. He encourages it, of course. Why wouldn't he?
He knows what it means, or at least suspects it. Peace between Hyrule and Gerudo is a fraught, fragile thing, and her arrival to their land is something rare and precious and utterly unprecedented. A scion of the line of Hylia, a precious flower of the east, returned to the land of the Golden People at long last. Legends say that once upon a time their realms were as if sisters, that the holy daughters of the white wing walked side by side with the children of the sun. Ganondorf and Zelda were born in a time of bloodshed, and their union is hardly enough to make up for the many deaths that preceded it, but it is a first step. A good first step. And his people are happy.
Zelda brings peace, and light, and the promise of new life. For him yes, as his wife and queen and other half, but for his people as well. She is their blessing. Of course they will welcome her with flowers. Of course.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, leaning against his arm.
"Wondering what other gift you will receive tomorrow, oh my beautiful flower," he says, which is not entirely a lie, and plucks one of the tiny white blossoms, tucking it behind her ear. It might not be that purple lotus but it's beautiful all the same, its petals silken-soft. "It suits you.''
Zelda tilts her head as she looks at him, and though she tries to look serious, the smile playing in the corner of her mouth makes that very difficult. "My king, I appreciate your suggestion, but… I doubt this is the kind of image you desire for the woman beside you. A queen must be put together, not always taken by these flights of fancy."
"If a moment of whimsy loses someone's respect then that respect was of little worth to begin with." He quite likes the look, how something so small makes her no longer seem like a songbird in a cage but some meadow faerie instead. "Perhaps a wreath of flowers instead?"
She laughs. "For a festival, maybe. Certainly not the daily happenings at court…"
"Why not? Your wardrobe is not yet complete, yes, but — do you remember the gown you wore the night we arrived?" She'd been enchanting, so much so that Ganondorf nearly threw caution to the wind and took her on the spot, only managing to restraint himself with the promise that he would have her all for himself for the next three days. The Mothers must've been looking out for him. "That gown, and the golden serpent around your throat, and these flowers in your hair… My dear, you will be the envy of all the court. The most beautiful flower of them all."
She plucks at the blossoms in her basket with a gentle shake of her head, her ears pink once more. Cute. "My darling husband, your words are kind, but I would not dare to shame your kin in your own home."
"They are your kin now as well. You are an avadha, witnessed by me and the council alike, anointed with the kiss of the sun." She had been one of them ever since she spoke at the summit, ever since she laid her gentle hands upon his skin and sang away the broken flesh. "You are my queen, Zelda, the beating heart of the people. There is no shame to be had."
"I understand, but—"
"You are mine," he reminds her, as gentle as can be. "My wife, my light, my precious moonflower. If you won't shine, chadali'v, who will?"
She flushes rose-pink, from her crown all the way down to her shoulders, and buries her face into his throat in a rare moment of shyness. Gan laughs, and draws his arms around her, and kisses her temple once more, then tucks another mountain blossom in her hair, admiring how it stands out against her thick chestnut tresses.
It is not her black gown that she wears to the next celebration but another, burnt orange and snowy white, but the white flowers shimmer in her hair all the same, delicate green stems wound around her wrists like living bracelets. She is breath-taking and Gan makes sure she knows it, with kisses and touches and whispers in her long ears that make her flush rose-pink, make the lotus in the fountain burst with life every time they walk by. Nabooru tells him that if he endeavors to drown the great hall in greenry he might as well bring his little wife to the vineyards and the mulberry gardens first, and he doesn't know if Zelda's embarrassment at being caught like so will overpower her excitement for travel. Those are the thoughts that follow her for the rest of the night and spill from her lips whenever they take a moment for themselves, and he's happy to step back and listen to his two most beloved people plan for the weeks ahead. Zelda will not demand it, it isn't in her nature to do so, but by now he can read her well enough to hear the words she does not say.
He will have to speak with Ulra before they leave, take care of some correspondence, and likely inform Nabooru… He'd been hesitant about the latter, considering his sister's situational bad temper and disapproval of his alleged impulsiveness, but seeing the two of them arm in arm soothes that worry. They are speaking of medicine now, of Zelda's childhood assisting her mother in the collection and brewing of potions and his sister's practice in the temple, and it makes him smile. He so loves being right.
(Truthfully, he was only half confident that they would become friends, the other half instead was convinced Nabooru would never approve of Zelda, if only because he did not consult her when he agreed to the arrangement. His sister likes to remain involved in his decisions regardless of how little he might need said involvement, and she holds a grudge like a demon.
She did not expect him to return home with a wife, certainly not with a princess of the line of Hylia on his arm, by her own volition, happy and glowing like a flower in spring. In her defense, he didn't expect it either.
She called him a fool, which he probably is, and an imbecile, and a great many other things she would later refuse to acknowledge — and then she hugged him, and patted his cheek, and told him to treat his wife well or else she would see to the matter personally. Gan took her words to heart. He is not that much of an imbecile.)
"You did wonderfully," he tells her later, his hand resting casually on the small of her back as he leads her away from the festivities and back to the comfort and safety of their apartment. "Soon you will have the entire city and all the tribes wrapped around your fingers…"
Zelda laughs, seemingly pleased yet embarrassed at the same time. "I wouldn't go that far, you know. Their acceptance will be enough."
They both know that is a lie, that she won't settle until she has earned their love or died trying, but considering the success of the evening and the fact he is very much looking forward to making love to her with those pretty flowers in her hair, Gan decides to let the matter drop. He opens the door for her, nodding at the guards stationed at the entrance, smiling when his pretty wife wishes them a good night — and scoops her in his arms the moment they have passed through, claiming her lips in a heated kiss. Zelda laughs, and twines her fingers in his hair, and nuzzles the side of his face when they part, and complains about messing her lip paint. Gan pushes the door closed with his shoulder and carries her into the bedroom with her laughter filling his ears, the small, steady warmth of her body against his chest.
She shrieks when he drops her atop the mattress, when he pulls the delicate golden twine holding her braid in place so that her curls would fall loose, and yet it is her who all but throws herself against him, grasping the collar of his kurta as she smashes her mouth against his. Silk and tulle bunch beneath his palms, the sash around her waist is knotted in such a way that he cannot free it without looking. Damn it.
"Don't you dare tear it loose," she warns against his lips, violet eyes peering at him behind dark lashes. "You're not allowed to destroy my wardrobe before it's even complete."
"I wouldn't dare," Gan promises, and thinks fondly of how her wedding gown ripped beneath his fingers like paper, how good it had felt to peel the layers one by one until it was only Zelda. He kisses the corner of her mouth. "Turn around."
She does, obedient to a fault (when it suits her), pulling the heavy fall of her hair over one shoulder. He kisses that same shoulder, teasing her skin with his teeth as he pulls the knot free, then moves his mouth to her neck, cradling her close as he unlaces her choli and pulls it free, and palms one of her lovely breasts, squeezing gently. Zelda moans, arching against him, pushing her chest into his hand. He's more than happy to oblige, never stopping his ministrations even as he draws the fabric away from her, eager to reveal her body and have his feast.
Greenery covers every surface around them, pots gathered by the windows, delicate vines climbing over the wall like ivy. Her doing. She blossoms against him and her flowers do too, and Gan feels the sweetness fill his lungs, rich and intoxicating. He keeps a hand on her breast and uses the other to pull her skirt down, to press his palm against her core and feel the familiar heat of her oasis against his skin.
"Fuck, chadali'v," he whispers, burying his face in her hair. "I made you wait, did I not? So lovely, so bare, all night long…"
Mothers have mercy, she is so wet. He kisses her throat one last time, briefly admiring the indent of his teeth, and lays her down, and Zelda looks at him without shame, pink-cheeked and smiling. Dark curls cling to his skin, to the shores of her cunt, and the sweetness in the air grows heavier with every breath, every brush of his fingers.
"You were looking forward to it," she says, almost shy, though her gaze is fierce. Challenging, almost. "I wanted to do something special for you."
"Special, she says. Zelda, you could wear a potato sack and I would still steal you and make love to you all night long." He kisses her softly, catching her lip between his teeth because he knows she likes it, then buries his face in her throat and bites down firmly. "Perhaps we need to make a rule about undergarments. Mothers, you are so wet… Little oasis…"
The feel of her against his fingers nearly breaks him, but Ganondorf is a patient man and he refuses to be known as anything but, so he takes his time. He kisses her throughly, trailing his lips down her body even as his fingers begin to caress her, making sure not a single part of her goes untouched. His moonflower, his sweet little wife — she sighs, and gasps, and whispers for him, and calls his name as if it were a prayer, something holy and precious. The lower he moves the sweeter she becomes, and he peppers kisses on her stomach before guiding her legs apart and taking his rightful place between them, and slotting his mouth against her petal-folds, groaning as a different kind of sweetness smears against his tongue.
"Oh, rajena'v," she cries, and grasps for his hair. "Oh, oh, goodness… S-so warm…"
Patience, he reminds himself again and again. Patience. Zelda needs to blossom and bloom, to spread her petals and welcome him within her. One does not plow dry soil — it must be tended to, watered, cared for. He kisses her gates and sucks on her petals, and drinks from her as if he has never drank before, and holds her in place so that she would not escape him, and teases the bud of her clit with his tongue and the edges of his teeth. He plunges within her, coaxing more of her waters out, drawing the sweetest music from her lips. His cock aches something fierce and yet he remains patient, intent to bring his precious moonflower to a peak.
Pollen fills the air, making him heady. Zelda calls his name, and tugs on his hair in the same breath as she tries to push him closer to the valley of her thighs. Gan laughs, and bites the soft milky flesh of her leg, and mouths at the blood that gathers along the imprint of his teeth. Then he licks her again, and presses his tongue within her, and holds her in place as she trashes and squirms beneath him, as honey drips from her and fills his mouth. As sweet as song.
"Sweet flower, you feed me well," he says, stroking her hips, enjoying the way she bends towards him, the way she cries as if she needs him the same way he needs her. "Shall we go again?"
"M-my king, Ganondorf," she calls, eyes wide, pupils dilated. A little flower beastling. "I need you."
"I am here, chadali'v, sweet girl." He kisses her thigh, strokes the imprint of his teeth with his tongue. "Tell me what you need, moonflower. I'm here. I'm here."
Zelda opens her mouth and then closes it, and frowns at herself. The flowers in her hair have somehow managed to stay in place, their snowy petals making it seem as if she wears a crown of stars — that is how lovely she is. Gan hums, and kisses her folds, and she gasps and tugs on his hair once more, and he relishes in the pull and slight ache of it all, in the concrete proof of her presence. Warm and soft, his flower princess.
"I need you inside of me," she says, slow and measured despite her quivering breath, despite the way she shivers every time he swipes his tongue against her skin. "I need you, my king, to bury your seed deep inside of me, to make it take root. I need you to — to make me blossom and make me fruit. Leave not a single field fallow and unturned, not a single flower untouched." The shaking stops, and she presses her palm against his cheek. "Can you do that for me?"
Gan smiles, bright and toothy. "I believe I can."
Loath as he is to leave the cradle of her thighs, he pushes himself up, kissing the soft inside of her palm and then her lips, pressing his tongue into her mouth so that she may sample the fruits of her own body. Zelda's arms wind around his neck easily, and she sighs, and lightly draws her nails over his shoulders; the promise of one day bearing her mark the same way she bears his gives him no reprieve. Though they have only been wed for a number of short, fragile weeks, her embrace already feels like home. Like the place he is meant to be.
He guides her long slender legs around his waist and shushes her with another kiss, one hand grasping the curve of her hip while the other hastily pulls on his sirwal. Zelda laughs, mischief dancing in her violet eyes, and reaches between them, gently brushing him away. Clever little moonflower with her clever fingers, how gently they glide over his skin, stroking his abdomen and his sides as she lures him down for another kiss. And another. And another…
"Zelda," he pants, squeezing his eyes shut as he bends over her, and buries his face in the pillow beside her head. "Chadali'v. Have mercy."
"I am merciful," she agrees, and kisses his cheek, and slides her palm into his sirwal. "I have waited so long… I wish to indulge in the moment."
Gan barks out a laugh. "Indulge all you want, pretty girl. Do as you please. I am yours."
She sucks in a breath. "Dangerous words, Sun King… so very dangerous."
At last she frees him from his sirwal, rolling it down his legs until he can sit up and kick it down, and then descend upon her. He no longer admires — he devours, tongue and teeth sampling her sweet flesh one last time before he guides his cock within her, hissing as the heat welcomes him. Zelda cries out, face flushed so beautifully, and closes her eyes, and mouths a prayer to the good Mothers above far too quiet for him to hear. Curiosity teases his heart, and he almost asks what it is she asks for. A child, or the opposite? A great night of pleasure? His regard? Whatever it is, he will grant it to her. Anything she asks for.
"Look at me," he whispers, leaning down to brush a kiss against her brow. "Open your eyes, chadali'v, and look at the beast you have turned me into. Witness our joining."
And so she does, dark lashes kissing her cheeks as she blinks back into awareness, as her walls begin to spread around him. She is as silk, soft and smooth and yet so strong, the resistance of her body just as intoxicating as the sweet honey that drenches his cock even now. She is the land and the wind and the fruit and the flood.
"Deeper," she calls, fingers threading into his hair. "Rajena'v, I need you more. I need you to fill me again."
Gan hums, tightening his grip so that he may pull her towards himself, use her body as he pleases. She is so wet, soaked through, that his path is unimpeded, that her flesh bends around him at the mere whisper of pressure. He has to be careful, yes, mindful of the speed and the angle and the strength he puts behind his thrusts, but his pretty wife has proven to be far more sturdy than he initially expected — and far more accommodating, as well. Any other woman would've needed months of work to become suited to his size, but not Zelda. She was made for this. For him.
So tight and yet so welcoming. He leans closer, caging her between his chest and the bed, pressing further. "No hurt?"
"No hurt," Zelda replies, and smiles at him, and gently pulls on his hair. "And even if it did, I'm not sure I would mind it…"
"Mhm, maybe a different sort of pain." He bites her wrist, and holds it in place, and drinks that sweet scent. "Patience. I can give that to you as well, soon. But I cannot do it all at once."
The way her breath hitches will haunt him until he dies. "Do you promise?"
"Yes, chadali'v. I promise."
Who would have known that the princess of the blood would be a glutton for pain, or that she would beg for his cock so sweetly? There is always the possibility that this is all a lie, of course, a fantasy spun from her clever fingers to deceive him for the benefit of her family's ambitions, but Gan does his very best to not think of it. His wife is good, and pure, and kind, and the only cruelty she knows of is the cruel game of wait between lovers, the agonizing test of patience for a stolen kiss, a precious moment. Beside, he cannot imagine someone like her to be this good an actress. She is a poor liar, as if somehow the ability to perceive falsehoods in another has made it difficult for her to fabricate her own.
Let it not be so, he finds himself praying as he kisses her palm once more, as he presses his teeth against the soft meat of her hand. Let her be mine. Let her stay mine. I will be good, I will let no harm come to her. I will treasure her. Let her stay mine.
Blood begins to bead against the edge of his teeth. He drinks it before it can hit the sheets, and kisses the ache away, though he does not release her hand, cradling it close as he continues to drive deeper and deeper, pushing her body this and that way so that he might fit all of himself within her. The hows and whys are beyond him, and Zelda has never seemed to care, not even the first time they laid together — she was eager, almost as much as she is now, to explore the limits of her own body, to see just how far he could push her. He'd almost called her mad, though now he thinks that it might be him who is mad. Slave to the rhythm of her breaths, to the loud beat of her heart that he hears so clear.
"All of you, rajena'v," she demands, the golden tongue so sweet on her rosy lips. "I need it all. All of me you will have, but in return—"
"All of me I give," Gan finishes for her, and kisses her fingers. "It is yours. Take it, sweet moonflower, take what is rightfully yours. Let me lose myself to the waters of your body. Let me give it all to you."
He doesn't know if he wants to confiscate all the poetry, make sure she never learns another lick of it with which to torture him, or if he wants to hear her read it day by day, feed him morsels of these tales of love and ardor. His back aches as he bends down to kiss her but he does so all the same, then holds her in place so that he would not hurt her as he seeks that precious depth, as he gently bends her body to his needs. Flesh calls to flesh; Zelda cries, tipping her head back, petals spilling upon the sheets as she constricts around him, as shores kiss the root of his cock. Warmth surrounds him. Home.
"You take me so well, moonflower," he whispers, and peers down at her face, at her dark eyes and flushed cheeks. "Deep enough?"
"Yesssss," she moans, and he laughs, but holds her all the same. "Move, please. Make love to me."
He tries to be gentle, Gan tells himself, he really does. Zelda likes gentle well enough, as any avadha would, but in moments like this she does not accept gentle, the wild beastling that she is. She moves in a swift, calculated manner, lifting her legs in an attempt to wrap them around his hips, and pulls on his hair and drags the tips of her nails over his shoulders — not hard enough to leave the mark he desires but enough to feel the sting, the memory of her touch imprinted in his flesh, however briefly. She pulls him forward, demanding offerings to the altar of her body, and he cannot refuse her. How can he, when she begs so sweetly? She is a goddess in the shape of a woman, a being of light and life, and though he is a king he feels like a supplicant in front of her, a mere worshiper to this being of beauty and moon-kind smiles.
He makes love to her for hours. He is above her and beneath and beside her, gentle and cruel and soft and hard, eager to possess her and to devour her and to follow her, to bend to her every whim for another note of her song, another drop of honey down his throat. He tends to her fields and her valleys, makes sure they will never run dry, and plants his seed as deep within as he can, filling her to the brim. They will both be sore come the morrow but he does not care, and suspects that she does not either, or else she would've refused him long ago. The flowers bloom around them, filling the air with the smell of spring and a woman well-loved alike. Gan washes her gently, and makes sure his seed remains within her, pushing it back in whenever it attempts to leak, and perhaps he enjoys the way Zelda squirms when he does so more than he ought to.
After it is done, after he has cleaned her and watered her and made sure she is well, he finally allows himself to fall — and to be drawn into her embrace, his cheek against her breast, her fingers drawing through his hair. She kisses his brow and he does not push her away. "Thank you, Ganondorf. You were so good to me."
He snorts. "You mustn't thank me for taking care of you. It is my duty, as your husband and keeper and lover, and my pleasure as well. I cherish the moments we spend together."
"As do I, but you forget dear husband, only I decide when and how I want to thank you, and I feel like thanking you tonight. Must you always be so contrite?" she replies, and kisses him once more. "I am aware that my desires are unorthodox, and yet you please me eagerly, and never complain. You are wonderful, and I could not dream of a kinder husband… though I would like one who is more accepting of compliments."
Gan rolls his eyes. "Only you would call the pain I inflict upon you kindness."
"Perhaps. But it is pain I desire, and enjoy, as have many others before me, and many more will continue to do once I'm gone. It's something special to me, as is all that you have taught me, and I'm glad I get to share it with you. My most precious person." Zelda hums, and pulls him closer yet, and he feels the drum of her heart against his ear. "For all of it, I thank you."
Troublesome, radiant woman. He sighs, unable to fight the smile that pulls on his lips. "… always for you, moonflower."
Ganondorf likes to think he's doing a good job as a king — he led his people out of war for the first time in nearly a century, that certainly has to count for something — but even he has to admit that few things feel as good as witnessing the change his rule has brought with his own eyes. He hasn't traveled much since the negotiations began, too busy tearing the proposals apart to make sure there was no hidden stipulations and drafting his own in return, and endlessly moving back and forth between Parapa and the border until it became so exhausting he had no choice but to commandeer a manse in Sahgash and moved a third of the court there. And yes, while seeing Hyrule in a peaceful state and not having to constantly be on the lookout for enemies had been a relatively pleasant experience, nearly being murdered at the summit notwithstanding, he misses his land. His people. What he fought for, bled for, danced with death for.
And now he has a wife to share it with. A wife who, by her own admission, was rarely allowed to leave her gilded cage, and only traveled by a decree of the crown — to the lakeside temple, to the sacred springs, to her maternal grandfather's family in Kakariko Village. Small excursions, she would say, a distant look on her face, hands twisting together. She knows how to ride however, horses nearly as sweet on her as plants are, and so Gan takes no time in making Nabooru's teasing remarks reality, taking his young queen on a progress to see the land she has become the heart of.
First she frets, as he expected, telling him all the reasons why this is unwise while watering the now vast collection of potted plants within their chambers; she is a nervous little beastling, twisting her hands and pulling on strands of her hair until Gan threatens to bind her wrists if she doesn't stop hurting herself. Then she tries to bargain — and to his credit, he listens to each and every one of her suggestions, takes them into account, alters the plans accordingly and rebuffs her whenever she's wrong (not that she would admit being wrong). And then finally, only after she has completed the routine of pretending she doesn't want this, she shyly sits down beside him and runs her fingers over the map, and asks about the route, excitement bleeding through her indifferent mask.
Her wardrobe has been long completed, with plenty of variety to accommodate their long weeks on the road, though her riding boots are finished a mere two days before they are to leave. He takes Zelda on a few short walks around the city gates to give her and Riah some time to bond and grow used to each other, glad that it was Nabooru who chose the horse and not him. Sand steeds run hotter than most Hyrulean breeds and though Zelda gets along with Zharu just fine, spoiling his well-trained warhorse with songs and sweet treats, something like Riah suits her much better.
Gan worries. Not about the road, or Zelda getting hurt — attacks are unlikely though still possible threat always lingering at the back of his mind, and he has two medics traveling with them alongside his own skill in the field — but about how well she will take to it. He wants Zelda to love his people and for them to love her in return, to accept her as one of their own. Their blessing. Brave and proud and clever Zelda.
"Ganondorf, Ganondorf!" his wife calls to him, her voice as bright and clear as a bell. "I found some frogs in the lily pond!"
His worries were clearly unfounded. Zelda takes to the road like a flower takes to sun — hungrily, with arms wide open to welcome it.
They are in Dagadohn now, a sizable settlement in the shade of the Highlands split in half by one of Regencia's tributaries. Gan owns a small estate there, a comfortable home with enough rooms to house a large and growing family and a garden so lush it brings a tear to his eye every time he steps out on the balcony to look at it. The heat is gentler here than it is in Parapa, enough that the shadecloth is rarely unrolled, and the canals, a miniature of the Sun's Water Gardens, house a multitude of small animals that fill the air with their song.
"I didn't know you had frogs," he says, smiling to the picture of Zelda by the pond's edge, holding her new companion in her cupped hands. He wants to join her, to kiss her, to put one of the flowers in her hair, but he also knows she doesn't mind waiting a little longer while he takes care of the true reason they came all the way here.
"They are a recent addition, yes. Found a clutch of tadpoles beneath one of the lily transplants, decided to keep them. Supposedly they add to the atmosphere, though in reality their best use is pest control." Nialet flips to the last page of his notes, eyes roaming over the schematic. "Do you have frogs in the city?"
"Not yet, at least to my knowledge, but I've considered it. Zelda is enamored with them, apparently it was the only pet her parents let her have when she was younger." He steps closer, leaning over her shoulder. "What do you think?"
She exhales, and leans back into her chair, drawing the loose strands of hair away from her face. Life here is treating her well — there are more laugh lines around her mouth, an easy to the way she holds herself that makes him smile. Her hands are worn but not hurt, the ilmaha's newest henna experiments already smudged on her fingers, and when he reaches for one to squeeze and bring to his lips for a kiss, she doesn't even attempt to reject him. He counts it among his greatest victories.
"It's very big, rajena," she says. "I've never heard of a glasshouse of this size."
"There is one in Termina, about the same size as the central dome. I've some of their plans as well if you'd like to take a look. They've got it all — calculations, material lists, anything you'd need to make a copy." It would be wonderful if they could see that one in person, but as much as he would like it, a trip to Ikana so soon after establishing the peace he worked so hard for is not in the cards. "I'm told they're keeping quiet about it for now. Not hiding it, but not advertising either. The lead architect is interested in my take on the project, said we would keep in touch."
Nialet looks at the sketch once more, pursing her lips.
Gan sighs, and leans closer. She smells of clean soap and dark soil, of tender life. "Tell me what you think."
"I think, my king," she taps her fingers on the table, "that you are an ambitious fool with a big, soft heart. And that your wife is lucky woman. And that if built correctly, this glasshouse of yours might be able to support the entirety of the city and some of the tribes beyond all year around. And," she takes a deep breath, "that you are being troublesome again."
He grins, and kisses her cheek — it always amuses him that he can fluster an avadha like her so easily — before pulling away. "Trouble keeps us young, no?"
"There's a difference between being the one to cause trouble and having to witness it. I'm not surprised you aren't familiar with it, though." There is fondness in her voice as she speaks, and she accepts his second kiss with a small laugh. "See? Trouble."
"Mhm. As you say."
She shakes her head, and the light of the setting sun catches in the stands of her hair and makes the copper undertone shine. Then her expression softens. "I would like to keep these while you're here. Take my time, make sure I haven't missed something."
"Yes, of course. Just, uh." He hesitates, feeling strangely bashful as he leans to whisper in her ear. "Don't tell Zelda about this. I want it to be a surprise, at least until we begin digging."
She rolls her eyes and playfully pushes him away. "Of course it is. Why am I not surprised?"
"Nialet," he pleads, grasping her hand.
"I'm not going to tell her, rajena, you can stop looking at me like that. It's rather unfair, you know, and all the little sprouts do it too. Damned golden eyes." She pats his cheek, gentle, almost playful. "Here you are, causing trouble again, challenging the laws of the earth itself for the sake of your lady love. You will never change, will you?"
He relaxes, shoulders slumping as he breathes out a laugh. "I've bent many laws for those I care about, what is one more?" Many would question his choice of lovers, claim he spoke blasphemy when he awarded the most holy names unto them. Many would question his strategies and his bloodlust and his alleged cruelty. Many, like her, would call him trouble, and point to his youth, to his roots, to the seed that bore him and the hands that held him. Gan is familiar with laws — and how to bend them to his will. "I am king, vo’kalu geldenai. I make the law."
"Of course, rajena." Nialet smiles, and brushes her thumb across the back of his hand, then gently releases it. "Now shoo. Go run with your songbird, she must be wondering what is taking your so long. Leave this old woman to her tea and her notes."
"Not that old," he gently corrects her, and steals a third kiss, then vaults over the balcony and lands easily on the mossy ground, and pretends not to hear her calling after him in fond exasperation.
He has always been fond of flowers, hasn't he?
Zelda is still by the frog pond, her sandals thrown to the side and her feet bare, her long hair unbound, glimmering like dark silk in the lazy afternoon sun. At the sound of his approach she looks up and smiles at him, and he almost trips over his feet at the sight of it, a goofy grip splitting his face. Does she always do this when he is around? He hardly noticed, too taken by her presence and her warmth and her everything — perhaps he is the same. It can be faked, of course, and perhaps she's a better actress than he gives her credit for, but the tiny voice in the back of his head grows fainter by the second, brought to heel by that sun-bright smile.
"Hey," she says, twisting a stand of hair around her pointer finger.
"Hey yourself." He drops to a crouch beside her. "Having fun?"
"Yes, thank you for asking! L'vaisa Nialet's work is breath-taking, I should have known not to question your judgment. I have so many things I want to ask her about… Though, um. Only if you think she won't mind, of course. This is her home, I don't want to disturb her."
Gan laughs, because of course she will question him, it's in her nature, then winces. "Sands, chadakalu, don't let her hear you call her that. She will probably have my head." Again, he silently adds. One of the many reason he thought they would get along
Zelda giggles, and Gan gives her a pleading look; he has never feared that sound more than he does now. Still, when she leans towards him he happily returns the gesture, never the one to waste an opportunity for a kiss. To draw her into his arms, and bury his fingers into her dark tresses, to feel the silk of her hair against his skin. She tastes green and bright and decadent, and something else also — deeper, earthier. He dips his tongue in her mouth to study that new flavor and she returns the favor, tugging on his shoulders until he sits so that she might climb atop him, her strong legs framing his with the grace of someone who has spent half her life on horseback. Gods, the things this woman does sot him.
"Mischievous little thing," he rasps, and lightly bites the apple of her cheek. "How come you always know how to do this?"
"Do what?"
Gan gestures to the space between them, the tangle of their legs. "This. Disarm me completely, defeat me with only a single look, and a touch of your hand. It's infuriatingly effective."
"Oh. Well." Zelda laughs once more, softer now, almost bashful. "I'm pleased you find me so skilled in the arts of love, o rajena geldanai, but I must admit it's just happenstance. Most of the time. I'm not unfamiliar with employing my feminine charms, you know I was not a maid when we first knew each other, but I hardly felt the need to reach for them when I'm around you. Not when you speak my name as if it's the sweetest word you have ever known." She smiles, and lightly presses her lips against his. "It is you who makes me feel all these wonderful things, who makes me desire you more than I imagined I could desire. So, if you seek a culprit for these so-called defeats… It is none but yourself, dear husband."
Gan snorts, and still yet pulls her in for a kiss, for another taste of honey. "You are a minx, my dear princess. A temptress sent upon this golden earth by the Great Mothers themselves, to test my resolve and steal the soul from my body."
"I've never been called a temptress before," she muses, leaning away from him once more. "It sounds… pleasing. Flattering, even."
"You deserve to be called that and many other things." Gan tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, admiring the pink that blossoms across her cheeks when he does that. "You did not miss me greatly, did you?"
"No, I do quite well on my own, though I did miss you a little. I wish I could've shown you the frogs, I think they went to different ponds."
"We will be here for a few days, sweet girl, you can show me the frogs tomorrow if that is what you wish." He wonders if it will be possible to introduce a few breeding pairs to the Water Gardens as well, whether they will get along with the koi — he would have to consult the gardeners and the fishkeepers. "I have to admit, your excitement over the simple things in life continues to amaze me. You are unlike any other princess I've ever met."
Zelda leans against his chest, one hand idly running up and down the collar of his kurta. "How many princesses do you know?"
"Your sister, for one. And mine, by Hyrule's reckoning, though you and I both know she would not call herself such unless I would die without naming an heir. Your cousin. The Zora princess with the bad temper." He keeps listing them on his fingers, keeping his expression carefully neutral. She does the same, and he has to wonder if she has caught on the game or is simply being contemplative. "I will admit, I am not as familiar with them as I am with you, but I don't think many of them would waddle in knee-deep water to hunt for frogs simply for the sake of making friends with them, or teach gardening lessons to small children, or have a secret notebook documenting every plant, animal and person she's met, drawn by hand. Or be able to devour a truly outstanding amount of lemon cakes in under an hour, for what it counts."
Zelda purses her lips for a moment, looking as if she is to rebuke him. The she says, "Ame likes lemon cakes too. We usually split the platter, but she knows they're my favorite, and on my birthday she would let me have them all, so long as I paced myself and didn't eat them all at once — if not for her, I would eat so many it made me sick. How did you find my journal?"
"You aren't as stealthy as you think you are, chadakalu. I haven't found it, exactly," and he didn't try, once he realized she would not show it to him on her own, "but I've caught you writing in it a few times in the evening, seen a drawing or two over your shoulder. It pleases me to know you have a treasure you love so dearly, whether you share it with me or not." He kisses her temple. "Do you write good things about me?"
She makes a low humming noise, and kisses the underside of his jaw. "I copy your poetry in it sometimes, and keep the little notes you leave on my desk between the pages. I marvel at them when you are away, and hold them close. I've been trying to draw you, but none of my attempts so far measure to the original."
"I can pose, if you'd like. I'm very good at sitting still and looking handsome." Only half of that is true.
"No, that would not be necessary, but I appreciate the offer all the same. You are too sweet to me."
"I believe it is a husband's duty to be sweet on his wife," Gan says, and savors her resounding giggle, the way it makes her glow. "You mustn't laugh, kahnili'v, this is a serious matter. A husband has many duties to his wife, like brushing her hair in the morn, and writing to her every time he has to leave bed early, and sending messenger-cats to her in the middle of the day so that she knows he is always thinking about her. And ensuring she has lemon cakes to eat every week, even if sometimes it has to be candied lemon and not fresh. It's an age-old tradition, chadakalu, older than the very palace you and I call our home."
Her shoulders shake as she tries to hold her mirth. "Is that so?"
"It is, it is. The man who build that palace and the gardens that surround it, the great king Darii - he did it for his wife. Already he had sworn himself to her, as you and I are sworn to one another, and for her he carved stone and earth, and wrought a palace so lovely that people likened it to the shine of the sun. His blood runs through my veins, his and the wise, gentle Papara's — and that means I have to do anything within my power to make my wife happier than even king Darii did. Can't let some old man outshine me."
Zelda shakes her head the very same way Nialet did earlier. "Only you would compete with those no longer among the living over something so meaningless, Ganondorf."
"The happiness of my queen is not meaningless, chadakalu. In fact, I would say it has become one of the most meaningful things in my life." He bends down until there's but a hand's width of space between them, breaths mingling, her nose lightly brushing against his. "This is not Hyrule, Zelda. When a Gerudo makes an oath, we keep to it."
"I know. I am just… I am very flattered, my king."
"Hn." He kisses her brow, and holds in place for a moment, savoring her once more. Zelda, his most precious. "Why don't you give me a tour of the garden? We have some time before dinner is called, we can explore. Maybe we will see one of your frogs." It has been some time he visited, he'd like to see what Nialet made of this place, the home of all her children. Green and otherwise.
"I would love that." She stands, hands clasping his, and he follows after her, drawing his arm around her. "You're rather affectionate today, o rajena'v."
"And you are breathtaking." He will never tire of telling her that. "Lead the way, moonflower. I'm here with you, ever step of the way."
It takes longer than he would have liked to finalize a design that satisfies all parties involved, but by the end of the year, it exists, and Ganondorf cannot be happier. He spends most of these months traveling with his queen and their entourage and getting to see his kingdom with new eyes, both his — war-worn, longing — as well as hers, to watch the curiosity she held back during the the first fragile weeks of their marriage finally be unleashed. She is a tempest, eager to know everything there is to know, and he feels like all the years spent fighting tooth and nail slough off and fade whenever she's there, fluttering him around him like a particularly colorful moth, buzzing question after question. His queen.
His queen, the woman he will move heaven and hell for.
Zelda tells him she enjoyed the progress very much. She doesn't mind the long days of riding in the heat and the cold nights huddled together in his tent, the people that crowd around her like locust, the sharp gazes that follow her everywhere she goes. She's used to it, she says when it's just the two of them, being watched and judged, she is a princess after all, a symbol of the holy crown. Gan holds back the urge to pick her up and spirit her away to a marble tower at the end of the world, to keep her safe and sound and away from the eyes of those who will not accept her; Zelda is meant for so much more than a tower. She is clumsy at times, and her accent is strong, and Hyrule remains woven into her being even after half a year away from its clutches, but it's clear to him that her heart is large enough to contain Gerudo alongside her homeland.
She loves his land, and she loves his people. She loves their music and their history, and their broken and battered and beaten. It's no easy thing to abandon the only world you've ever known, and she has days where it seems like all she wants is to return to the cage of her birth and forever sing the same song, but those days grow fewer as the weeks go by. She makes friends among staff and courtiers alike. She runs circles around him, nose-deep in yet another obscure book he read as a child. She even manages to earn the council's approval, even if only because she can predict a storm and warn them in advance, and now works alongside their seers to peer into the golden pattern. She is making her own path, and he is happy to walk it beside her, to help her heave every stone the same way he once did his.
She loves dearly, passionately; her love is not a flame that flickers and sputters but a river instead, strong and steady, carving away at any rock that dares to stand in her way.
She is a blossom, strange and unusual, a flower from a far-away land. He fears for her, that small precious life, and yet she takes to their soils despite the whispers claiming she would not. He is the hand that nourishes her, the hand that waters her, the hand that guides her. For him, she blooms. For him, she glows.
And through it all, the gifts don't stop. Potted plants, dried plants, perfumes, essences, jewelry. Just about everything you can make out of a flower finds its way into their quarters. Zelda grows nervous about the many offerings, murmuring something about blasphemy when yet another letter sings praises to her green hands and the many fortunes she has already brought them. Gan watches her chew on her lip and struggle to write her reply, her face screwn in contemplation — and anxiety. She doesn't like blasphemy, doesn't like to speak of the divine uncalled for. He's not surprised.
"Maybe we should tell people to stop ending in pots," she says, aping at serenity. "It's a bit overwhelming…"
"We can have them sent to the royal glasshouse," Gan suggests, and reaches out, wrapping his hand around her fragile wrist. Everything about her is so delicate, so breakable, and yet she is so resilient — he doesn't understand. Perhaps he never will. "How about we visit tomorrow? You can choose the favorites you want to keep, and the rest will go there, and you can still visit them everyday. It's only across the koi bridge."
Zelda frowns. "Rajena'v, I don't want to take away from your busy time."
"Princess, assisting you in your discomfort does not take away from my time. You are precious to me, and anything bar an emergency can wait." He moves closer, tucking an arm around her. "I can attempt to make a statement to discourage your many suitors, but that won't guarantee they all stop. I suspect you will continue receiving flowers for as long as you live, or at least until something even more memorable happens that the people will focus on instead. You know what it's like."
"Of course I know. Still, I don't like it. I don't wish to be the spoiled strange woman who demands her people bring her gifts. It's not who I am." Despite her resistance she leans into his embrace without a second thought, and grips his kurta in her shaking hand. The other still holds a pen; he pries it out, and sets it down, and laces their fingers together. "Sometimes I wish I kept my mouth shut back then. All of this is such a mess…"
Gan hums, and squeezes her hand. "I cannot disagree further. You should say more things. Want more things. I'm fortunate to have grown to read your silences well, kahnili'v, to suspect your desires, but anyone less skilled in the matters of spirit would have had a difficult time in my place." He kisses the top of her head. "Zelda, moonflower. No one things of you as a spoiled foreigner, nor do they find you demanding and wanting. People do this because they love you."
"We've been married for but seven months," Zelda protests, shaking her head. "How can they—"
"The same way Hyrule loves you, though you have never sat her throne." Yet. "Your kingdom enjoys a claim over the favor of the gods, the blood of the divine maiden running through its veins. But you are here now, and you are one of us. The Lady has accepted you, and the Mothers whisper our future in your long ears, not Hyrule's. You have given the people a very rare hope, and for that, they love you." He brushes a strand of hair behind that very same pointed ear, and runs his lips along its length. "You are prosperity and peace and the blessing of the gods. Your coming has begun a new era. Do you not remember the fields? Did we not witness Their gifts with our own eyes?"
Zelda's pale face flushes a deep cherry pink. She has gained more color during their journey, freckles now covering the bridge of her nose and her shoulders, and the tops of her chest, and Gan is enchanted by it, counting each speck every time they are in bed, kissing them again and again. These freckles stand out when she blushes, a constellation painted across her skin. Of course she remembers the fields, and the dance they danced, and the rain-song he had only ever read about as a child, never witnessed with his own eyes. His are the war songs, the victory songs. The funeral songs. The fields and the orchards and the rain… He agreed to sing with her without a second thought. He wanted it, and even though she did not say it, he knew she wanted it too.
They sang and they danced and they made love and above them the sky opened and anointed them with its blessing, and still they made love.
"What we did in the fields required two people," she reminds him, and averts her gaze. "How can I forget…"
Gan grins. "It does, yes. Occasionally three, or four, or five… Depending on one's tastes, of course." He'd once expected her to be scandalized by the idea of some many bodies intertwined like most Hylians were, Zelda had reluctantly admitted she'd been reading these flimsy little books with erotic tales of many kinds ever since she began to bleed. It explained why she wasn't terrified of lying with him the first time and why she took to his tastes so easily, yet was endlessly confounded by the post basic things about the arts. Not for the first time, he feels pity for the young men and women of Hyrule. "You see, chadakalu, a new era is not made by one's lonesome. I would not disregard my part in it, certainly not, I would lose on so much fun if I did. I admit, I quite enjoy praise that came alongside your arrival, you who are so precious to me, the golden bird I dared not dream of… But I would be remiss to disregard your contribution. Like you said, what we did requires the both of us. There would be no blessed rain without your song."
She pushes against his chest, ever so slightly, and he laughs, and kisses her on the lips. Zelda sighs — her body is so soft, enticing, alluring. She's taken to wearing sirwal lately, of the style his sister popularized, and though the flowy skirts often make her look like a fairy fluttering along the wind, he rather enjoys the way the garment emphasizes on some of her other… assets. Mothers, but it's difficult to focus on anything when she's so close — he feels like a green boy tasting a woman for the first time, drunk on her sweetness.
"I am glad to have helped you begun an era of prosperity for your people, o my king," she says when they part, flushed still, but happy; hers is a smile that outshines the sun and moon and stars all at once.
"It is not my era, princess. It is our era. You are a part of this as much as I." Gan nudges her gently. "Don't be all modest now."
She rolls her eyes, and pushes against him again, and he loves it. Loves that she feels comfortable enough to play and tease him like this. "Modesty is an important virtue for everyone to have, King Ganondorf. Though I fear it is yet to bless you with its gentle light."
He barks a laugh. "Oh, chadakalu, you flatter me. Modesty is only for those who have nothing to be proud of, and I have plenty." He waggles his eyebrows. "Would you like to see?"
Zelda whines. Cute. "Oh, goodness gracious. Of course you would say that. Terrible man."
"Terrible, but yours." He grabs the hand she uses to rub against her face and kisses her. "The Terrible King and the Flower Maiden. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"You are not a terrible king. You are a very good one, actually." There's pride in her voice as she says that, and though the blush is yet to fully fade, there's a confidence in her eyes that only seems to come up when speaking about him — or, occasionally, her ever-growing potted plant collection. "A king worth writing stories about."
"Bah, that's not nearly as difficult as you think. Kings are special, all of us get tales." He pulls her closer. "But being a part of the story of a goddess of mortal flesh, a flower maiden most resplendent…. Yes, I would like that very much."
They spend the rest of the afternoon bickering about what their tale will be named and what it would be, and then they make love on the floor by the balcony, surrounded by Zelda's green children. She rides him, and sings a song so sweet, and then she cries because of how overwhelming it is — and then she rides him again, and sings the tale of their love in a low voice just for him to hear. There's flowers all around her, petals every color of the rainbow. Gan holds her tight, buried as deep as she would allow him, praying silently to the gods for kind Hyrule to open its fields while she sings, her fingers drawing a pattern of nothing across his chest.
It's a good afternoon.
Alas, no matter how careful he is about not showing her the schematics and keeping his visits to the architect's guild unobtrusive and asking those involved to keep the secret, his wife is clever as she is curious, and she is very curious. Nosy little beastling. It's his return home from such visit to the guild quarters that finds him face to face with his queen as she sits perched atop his desk, legs crossed and chestnut curls barely held together in a loose braid, arms framed enticingly around her breasts.
And sheets upon sheets of his drawings spread around her like her own little audience, with tiny notes penned in a familiar hand already scattered around them.
"Zelda," Gan says, raking through his mind for something to say. "What did you—"
"A lot. You aren't nearly as good at hiding these as you think you are, husband." She spins his inkpen between her fingers, then beckons him forward with it. "I don't know if I should be upset with you for trying to hide this from me."
He sheds his coat first, draping it over the back of his chair, then approaches her, and places one hand on her thighs. Not timid — Ganondorf Dragmire is not timid — but waiting, patient. When she doesn't push him away he places an arm around her. "I wanted to surprise you, moonflower."
Zelda huffs a little, and he can't help himself from brushing a strand of her behind one of her long, pointed years. "I figured that part, though I have to say you weren't really that sneaky. All those letters to every corner of the world… Foolish man." She cuddles close, rubbing her cheek against his chest. "Ganondorf, this — this is so much. Why? Why now, of all times? Oh goodness. It is so much."
She's not entirely wrong; even with the latest revisions his plans for the glasshouse are massive, easily one of the biggest projects his people have embarked on in a very long time. Gan nuzzles the top of her head and then looks at the chart just behind her, and smiles at the scraps of paper layered atop it, the ink not yet dry. There's splatters on her fingers too; he takes the pen and places it down somewhere safe, and rubs his thumb againt her knuckles until she sighs and closes her eyes, until her body begins to relax against his.
"Because," he says, with far more confidence than he truly feels, "I want to give you flowers."
"But I have flowers," Zelda protests, and tugs on his collar. "I have so many flowers, Ganondorf. I'm certain than building an entire palace is wholly unnecessary just to satisfy a frivolous little wish."
She's not the first to make that argument, and Gan doesn't know if he is amused to hear her unknowingly echoing the council that once decried their union or hurt by just how little she thinks of herself. He decides to focus on the former, at least for now. "But it was not frivolous. All you asked about was a single flower, and seeing as you've been so very modest about not making a single wish since then, I thought it would be best to give you something you truly want. Something that will make you happy, something that will live on long after we're gone." He strokes her cheek, brushing his thumb over her freckles. "Something that will benefit our people, as well. Fill their lives with the same joy that you have filled mine."
She lapses into quiet, her lips pursed, eyes averted. He waits for her to continue, simply touching her because he can, and trying to read the notes over her shoulder, even if the angle isn't ideal. He's pleased she has so much to say — she would not be his Zelda if she kept her tongue.
"I still think it's a bit too much," she murmurs, quieter now.
"Mhm, maybe. I did say I wanted to put King Darii's gift to shame, though, did I not? My gardens will be bigger than his, and flourish all year long, kept safe from the winds and storms in their glass home. We will grow flowers, but food as well — all kinds of produce, open to everyone. One day we might even build a school for those who want to learn of growing things, should there be enough students. And most of all," he cups her chin and tilts her head up, until she has no choice but to meet his eye, "it will be yours."
Zelda sighs. "Ganondorf—"
"I have already made my mind. The greenhouse will belong to you, and every queen after you, should she want it. You may delegate as much or as little as you want, and it will be difficult and it will bore you to death and it will even make you want to pull your hair out, but I will be next to you every step of the way, and so will all the people who poured their heart and soul into this miracle." He kisses her nose. "And a little bit is for me, as well. I do want my laurels."
"You are incorrigible, do you know that?" She laughs so sweetly, and though there's a familiar timidness in her expression, there is something else also: curiosity. Hunger. "Gan, oh goodness. I just — I can't believe it. I've never seen anything like this before, and I — I can hardly believe that one day you just woke up and decided to build it."
Ganondorf hums in response, and picks her up by the waist, and sits down on his chair, his precious cargo deposited in his lap. "If it brings you any solace, it was not a spontaneous decision. I've been thinking of something like this for quite some time, even before we met. The nights I assisted at the healing tents, the strategy meetings that dragged on for too long… I would dream of peacetime, and all the things I could give to make up for all that I took from my people. I wanted to make this world a better place, a place where children would learn to plant trees, not hold spears. You might find it counterintuitive, or claim it would have taken my mind away from what was most urgent, but I found the thoughts of building brought me some much-needed solace in those days. Reminded me I could so something other than kill."
A small hand covers his own. He looks down, and Zelda meets him halfway, and brushes a kiss against his lips. She is small and warm; she smells like spring. "Oh, rajena'v geldanai. You are so much more than death."
"I don't know if I am, but I would like to be." He has spilled too much blood to fully believe that. "I want to be a good husband, a good king. A good brother." A good father. "I want to give my people food to fill their bellies and songs to fill their hearts, and you, my queen, my precious moonflower, I want to give you the life and joy you have given me. I cannot pull the stars from the sky, I cannot grow wings and take you above the clouds, but this — I can do. I can build for you a garden and fill it with growing green things, and with music and with laughter, with… with anything you wish for. If you will take it."
Zelda does not respond immediately, though it would be a lie to say he expected her to. She is the river — she does not break upon the rock but moves around it instead, picking at it sandgrain by sandgrain until it wears down to a smooth stone. She runs her fingers along the back of his hand, the motion soothing and repetitive, a familiar touch exchanged between them. There's the smell of her, sweet and rich, and the weight of her in his lap, and the rhythmic sound of her breathing, the low drum of her heartbeat he can hear if he focuses. The taste of her, honey, still lingering on his tongue. Zelda in all her multitudes. The woman who saved him, the woman who gave away all that she knew and all that she was just for the chance of peace. Zelda, his wife. His queen. His heart.
"I want a future," she finally says, and squeezes his fingers. "A future with you. I want to continue sharing this home with you, this nest you have helped me make my own, and continue to wake up at your side day after day. I want—" her breath hitches, "as many children as there are petals on the lotus. I want to laugh with you, and dance with you, and dream of you, and I want to build that garden with you. I want to be with you, every step of the way." She weaves her fingers between his, and squeezes again. The weave is tight, the pattern unbroken yet loose, malleable. "Is that something you can give me?"
Ganondorf Dragmire does not cry, and he does not sniffle, and he does not stutter. Not one bit. He cradles her hand against his own, small and fragile and yet stronger than even his own. Strong enough to carry the world. He lifts it, still intertwined with his own, and he kisses each finger, and mouths the words he cannot yet speak against it.
"A future," he echoes her instead, lips moving against her skin. "I think — I think I can. If you will have it."
"I would not have asked for it otherwise." Zelda smiles, and leans closer, a loose strand of hair tickling his cheek. "If you will have me."
"I will have you. Again, and again, and again." Though they've been married for seven months, there's something so fragile in the moment that it gives him pause, makes his throat tighten with anxiety he hasn't feel since he was a green boy. "Oh, moonflower. May I kiss you?"
It makes her laugh; it makes her smile bloom wider, and her cheeks turn pink, and her eyes shine with little stars. "Yes, sun in my sky. You may."
So he does; he moves their joined hands to cup her cheek and closes the gap between them, slotting his mouth against her own, stealing that laughter to keep in his heart until the end of the time. And then he kisses her again, and again, and again, and picks her in his arms and carries her to their chambers, and kisses her as little white flowers blossom in her hair, and fill the air with their fragrance.