With the Enemy
Ganondorf woke to the feeling of being spooned.
It was disturbing, knowing that you had gone to bed alone, yet now feeling a stranger's body melded around your curves. It was warm and snugly and comforting and so wrong for the one named the king of evil. In the darkness he could not see his bedmate, but the weightlessness of the arm draped over his ribs suggested that it was a mouse of a man. Ganondorf pushed himself away and snapped his fingers; at the tips sprung a flame, casting a glow over the bed. There slept the Hero of Legend, still clad in his dirty green frock. His nemesis screwed up his face and turned into the pillow, away from the fire's light.
Ganondorf threw off the sheets, ready to smite the slumbering incarnation of Courage, when a cold desert wind swept through the open window. The Gerudo king shuddered caught in the spell of the chill. In that moment he noticed a grappling hook caught on the sill; a rope lead down into the nighttime desert, a place that even he dislikes.
Ganondorf looked again at the dozing Hylian. He had probably spent the day fighting his way across the dunes, and now he had crawled into the first bed he could find. The fool must not have realized that the king of the desert returned home on occasion. Or, judging by the exhaustion on his face, perhaps he hadn't even realized the bed had been occupied.
Ganondorf watched the small, swaddled chest rise and fall. The king realized that he too was tired. Something deep in his bones told him to stay his hand, to wait another day to play out the Goddesses' game.
"Very well," Ganondorf thought. He climbed once more under the covers. "Until dawn, little hero. Until dawn…"