Zelda tapped her fingers on the desk next to her keyboard. She had been typing steadily all day, but she was running out of steam. What did writing these reports matter, if barely anyone read them? She stared at the blinking cursor on the white space of her screen. All these letters, all these numbers, all this data – how could it possibly represent actual lives?
Zelda's phone buzzed next to her hand. She had few friends outside of work, and she didn't get many texts. It was probably her roommate Midna asking if she would grab something to eat on her way home.
She picked up her phone and looked at the notification on the screen. She apparently had a message from an unknown local number. Her breath caught in her throat. It could only be one person. She could feel butterflies in her stomach as she opened the text.
"Hello Zelda," it read. "This is Ganondorf. It was a pleasure to meet you yesterday."
"How quaint," Zelda muttered to herself. "Proper punctuation and everything."
Her phone vibrated again with another message: "Would you be amenable to meeting me again? I have something to show you that may be pertinent to your interests."
Zelda smiled. Who wrote texts like this? It was charming, in a way.
"Sure," she typed. "Are you still at the museum? I can be there in half an hour."
She sent the message without thinking, only realizing a second later how eager she was to see Ganondorf again. As she stared at her phone, waiting for him to respond, she realized something else. It was already half past six in the evening, when most people would have already gotten off work. It was entirely possible that he had been trying to invite her out to eat, and she had embarrassed herself with the assumption that he would still be at his desk.
Her phone buzzed in her hand with a new message. She opened it immediately. "I'm always here. I would be happy to let you in. The building is magnificent after hours. I think you'll enjoy it."
Zelda felt a blush creep over her cheeks, happy that he had been thinking of her. She hadn't asked him what he wanted to show her, but she had to admit that it didn't particularly matter. She assumed he was simply following up on their conversation yesterday, but surely he wouldn't write something like "the building is magnificent after hours" if he were merely expressing a polite professional interest. Zelda exhaled slowly, amused that she was analyzing a man's text message like she was still in college.
"All right. I'll see you soon," she wrote back.
His response was immediate. "Excellent. I'll be waiting."
Zelda switched off her screen and bit her lip. Her heart had started to race. "Oh sweet Nayru, I have a crush on him," she said softly, laughing to herself. She saved the document she'd been working on and turned off the monitor of her computer before standing and stretching. She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked to the window of her office, studying her faint reflection in the glass. I look fine, she assured herself as she smoothed down her hair.
She didn't want to brave the subway at rush hour, so she caught a taxi. As she watched the city scroll by, townhouses making way for government buildings, she wondered what Ganondorf wanted to discuss with her. The carved shield he had shown her yesterday was an anomaly that didn't fit into the flow of Hyrule's history, but her own research indicated that there were many such anomalies. To give but one example, there were the multiple sets of work visas issued around the turn of the previous century. Dozens of entry documents at a time would be granted to groups of people with startlingly similar names and identical vital details: Gorek Eldin, Goron, male, age 21; Gorec Eldin, Goron, male, age 21; Goreck Eldin, Goron, male, age 21; Gorex Eldin, Goron, male, age 21, and so on. Someone simply scanning their eyes over the list might not notice that something strange was going on, but there seemed to be some sort of deliberate obfuscation of the records. But why? Hyrule had always been an open country, and she didn't understand who would benefit from erasing the identities of the people coming across the border.
The taxi left the valleys between the modernist structures housing bureaucratic offices and merged onto the broader streets lined with the monumental architecture of the ministry buildings. They were getting close to the museum, and Zelda's heart hadn't slowed down in the slightest.
After returning to work yesterday afternoon, she had been focused on her obligations, and she stayed late to ensure that the day's business was concluded. As soon as she got home and finally had time to herself, alone in her room while Midna did whatever she did on her computer all night, her thoughts immediately turned to Ganondorf. She'd fished around in her satchel, looking for his business card, only to realize that he hadn't given her one in exchange for her own. She entertained the notion of running a search for him, but she was too tired to bother. Instead she closed her eyes and remembered the lines of his face and the feel of his hand against hers.
She had gone to sleep thinking of him, and he had been the first thing in her mind when she woke up. The museum curator, impossibly large but impeccably dressed, aloof yet eloquent. Had he really kissed her? Why was she so drawn to him? She usually had no interest in men, but for some reason he felt familiar to her, as if this weren't the first time they'd met.
The taxi pulled up to the curb of the turnaround at the foot of the back entrance of the museum. Zelda touched her transit passcard to the reader and climbed out into the muggy air of the early evening. The sidewalk still emanated heat from the harsh afternoon sunlight. As the taxi drove away, she adjusted her satchel on her shoulder, ensuring that it wasn't pulling the neckline of her blouse to the side. Holding her back straight, she climbed the steps to the museum entrance.
When she reached the upper terrace, she saw that Ganondorf was waiting for her just behind one of the glass doors. She waved to him, and a smile crept across his face. She found herself grinning in response. He held the door open for her, and as she passed by him on her way inside she caught the mellow scent of old paper.
The foyer on this side of the building wasn't as grand as the rotunda on the side she had entered yesterday, but it was still impressive, with two decadent fin de siècle staircases spiraling up to the entrances of the museum's wings. A gorgeous chandelier of stained glass globes was suspended between them, and light streamed in from the windows above the entryway doors. The docent stations and public benches were deserted, and the space was completely silent except for the sound of her footsteps.
"Thank you for inviting me," she said, turning to face Ganondorf.
"I'm happy you came," he responded, and he did appear genuinely pleased. Unlike yesterday, he was more casually dressed, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. When he held out his hand to her, she noticed that the edges of his palms were stained with ink, and it amused her to think that there was someone in the world who still wrote with an actual pen. When she took his hand, assuming that he meant to shake it, he instead bent down slightly and raised her fingers to his lips, kissing her knuckles as if she were a princess.
Her cheeks burned. "You don't have to do that," she murmured.
"Of course. My apologies." He squeezed her fingers lightly and dropped her hand. "I had a feeling you'd come to this entrance, and it's fortunate that I was able to meet you here. The offices are just above us, which saves us a walk through the galleries. But if you'd like to look around..." He gestured toward the far end of the spacious room, where several stairs led visitors up onto the slightly raised floor level of the older portion of the building. Zelda had been taken here on several field trips while she was a child, and she remembered being told that the museum had been renovated several decades ago. It was strange to think about a place like this having its own history, as every detail of its architecture conveyed a sense of timelessness. Zelda wondered if Ganondorf ever felt oppressed by the static weight of the atmosphere.
"I don't need another tour," she said, "but is there a scenic route we could take to your office? I don't often get to stroll around empty museums."
"A scenic route?" Ganondorf paused to consider her question. "I suppose I could take you up the stairs on the other side of the west wing's lower gallery, which is where we keep our period furniture. It's mostly empty even during museum hours, but the view of the garden from the stairs should be nice around this time of day, if you'd like to see it."
Zelda smiled. "That would be lovely."
Ganondorf turned toward the gallery and offered her his arm. It took Zelda a moment to understand his gesture, but once she did she was delighted. If any other man had performed such an outdated custom it would have struck her as insincere, but Ganondorf had an easy grace that made it seem perfectly natural. Zelda threaded her hand through the crook of his elbow.
"After you," she said.
"Watch your step," Ganondorf cautioned her as they began walking. "There's a difference in the levels of the floor here. When they built the new wing, they weren't able to lower the ceiling of the underground archives. Those rooms were constructed to survive everything from fire to flood, so the floor of the old wing ended up being a few inches higher."
"I didn't know that," Zelda admitted as they stepped over the divide together. "How long have you worked at the museum?"
"Not long," he answered. "I was offered a position after I left grad school, where I wasted far too many years of my life. It didn't suit me at all. I was lucky to have a cousin who works as an archaeologist here. She gave me the opportunity I needed, and I took it."
"I see," Zelda said. She had no fond memories of her own time in grad school. She had started looking for a job even before she decided on the title of her thesis, and she had been hired by a blind review panel at her firm almost instantly. Still, despite her degree and qualifications, she knew her coworkers talked about her behind her back, saying that she had only been offered the position because of her father's connections.
"I'm sure you would have found a place regardless," she told Ganondorf. "I've never met anyone better suited to work in a museum," she added, and it was true.
"It's kind of you to say that."
Zelda felt Ganondorf's muscles tense. She wondered if she had said the wrong thing, but then he lowered his arm, his hand finding hers. Their fingers fit together as neatly as if their hands had been made as a joined set. How strange that I only met him yesterday, Zelda thought. They continued walking in companionable silence.
The gallery they passed through displayed furniture from the last century, with a few older pieces mixed in for comparison. Set against the eggshell white walls and screened from human touch by thin cordons, the chairs and settees and dressers and armoires looked lonely, almost like animals in a zoo. As she ran her eyes over the curves and flourishes of the furniture, Zelda couldn't help but think of her father's townhouse, which was filled with antiques. He was a fussy man, always insisting on the superiority of their ancestry. He liked to tell her and everyone who would listen that they were descendants of Hyrule's royal family, as if that meant anything.
"I'm not sure this gallery is my cup of tea," she admitted.
"I'd have to agree with you. It's like a tomb for forgotten things," Ganondorf remarked.
"It's kind of creepy, when you put it like that."
"It won't help to learn the story of how the museum came to acquire the items in this collection. About a decade into the last century, right around the time of the war with Labrynna, the city officials decided it was time to modernize the west district. It turned out that tearing down all the old houses was a major part of this project. The residents were chased away by grossly inflated property taxes, an injustice exacerbated by deliberately neglected infrastructure. When the banks bought or foreclosed on the houses, many items formerly in private collections found their way here. There are a number of famous paintings hanging on these walls that the museum could never have afforded otherwise."
Zelda knew exactly what Ganondorf was referring to; she had seen it in the census records. The west district had historically been the home of the city's Gerudo merchants and artisans. She wondered if the history of the museum's collections intersected with Ganondorf's own family history, but it was an awkward subject, and it seemed rude to ask.
They continued to walk together until they reached the end of the hall. Even before the staircase came into view, Zelda could see the light streaming down from the huge window set into the wall above its landing. The strong red rays of the sunset cut through the dimness of the gallery and pooled onto the floor.
"The Zora have a myth about carp that holds that they can turn into dragons if they manage to climb a certain heavenly waterfall," Ganondorf told her as they crossed into the sunbeam. "The ironwork adorning the banisters here is meant to illustrate that story. As we climb the stairs, you'll notice that the style of the carps' representation changes to reflect the evolution of Zora art over the course of the past century."
"Does the carp become a dragon at the top of the stairs?" Zelda asked.
"It does not," Ganondorf replied, "but the stairway leads directly to the hall housing the curators' offices. I'm not entirely certain that the artist wasn't making a joke about the fearsome tempers of some of our number."
The fearsome tempers of some of our number. What a curious turn of phrase. Zelda reflected that Ganondorf spoke as if he were writing each of his words carefully on a piece of stationery. He didn't have any trace of an accent, but she wondered if perhaps Hylian weren't his first language.
The large window on the staircase landing faced directly west over the museum's garden, whose paths were adorned by large sculptures, from bronze renditions of heroic public figures to more modern grotesques and abstractions.
"The layout of the garden is modeled on the inner courtyard of Hyrule Castle," Ganondorf said. "There was a vocal outcry when the building was converted into government offices. No one objected to the outer walls coming down, but people wanted the gardens to become a public space. The compromise the city offered was to create a replica, and the statues and fountains were transferred here. Supposedly there is still an inner garden that has been left intact in one of the older sections of the former castle, but I haven't seen it myself."
"That's interesting," Zelda replied. She had often visited the inner garden Ganondorf spoke of when her father brought her along with him to work. She had no desire to reveal who her father was, however, and Ganondorf seemed proud of the garden here at the museum. It would be cruel to tell him how beautiful the original garden in the castle truly was.
Perhaps sensing her agitation, Ganondorf put a hand on her shoulder and turned her away from the window. He continued climbing the stairs, and she followed him to the second floor. It was much less grand than the entryway, obviously designed for more utilitarian purposes. Ganondorf led her to a narrow hallway, which was lit by a skylight running along its length.
"These are the curators' private offices, but not many people are here at this time of day," Ganondorf explained. "After the crowds go home is when we're able to work on the exhibits. The librarians leave at closing time, so some of us take the opportunity to go down into the archives. It's usually much more lively than it is now."
"But this is nice," Zelda responded. "I like the atmosphere."
What she didn't say was that she was excited to be alone with him. As they walked down the hallway, she told herself that she would listen to whatever he had to tell her and then politely excuse herself. She didn't fully understand why she was so drawn to this man, and the intensity of her attraction felt dangerous, as if she couldn't trust her own heart. Ganondorf was clearly attracted to her as well, but encounters like this just didn't happen in real life. Was there something about the time and the place of their meeting that was special? If they had met under different circumstances, would she have come under the influence of the same magnetic pull?
"It's as if I'm seeing something secret," she mused.
"Then I should apologize that this secret is so mundane," Ganondorf said, coming to a stop in front of a door with his name engraved on a panel on the wall next to it. Zelda noticed that his last name, Dragmire, was highly unusual, and she wondered what its origin might be.
"There's not much magic that happens up here," he continued. "We still use fax machines, if you can believe it."
"Fax machines? I didn't know that there were any that still worked." Zelda laughed. "I guess this is a museum, after all."
"Indeed." Ganondorf smirked as he unlocked the door and held it open. Zelda stepped inside his office, which was narrow but long. A wooden table covered in folios and stacks of paper was pushed into the corner next to the door, and a desk flanked by bookcases was positioned farther inside, where a dusty window shed light down onto an ancient radiator. Between the bare floorboards and the cast-iron lamps set into the naked plaster of the walls, the room was like something from another era.
Zelda heard Ganondorf close the door behind her. She turned to find him gazing at her intently.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said.
"It's my pleasure." She met his eyes. "I wanted to see you again."
He took a step forward, and she knew she should move to let him brush past her, but she was unable to look away from him. He reached out and lightly touched his fingers to her cheek. She covered his hand with hers and pressed his palm against her face. The touch of his skin felt so natural and so right. Somehow, it was if she had known this would happen.
He seemed hesitant and unsure of what to do next, so she broke the silence. "Kiss me," she said.
"That's not why I brought you here, I swear it." Ganondorf pressed the pad of his thumb against Zelda's lips. "I would not presume to take advantage of you."
"I know. You seem like an honorable man. Kiss me anyway." She ran her tongue along the crescent of flesh under his nail, and he closed his eyes and sucked in his breath.
"I pulled some manuscripts from the archives," he muttered in a choked voice, "and I thought that you..."
Zelda shrugged her shoulder to allow her satchel to drop to the floor and then ran her hand up Ganondorf's arm to his bicep. Great Din, he was massive. How did someone like this become a curator? In another age, he would have been an archaeologist, wresting artifacts out of the earth and stuffing them into excelsior-filled cedar crates that he would carry on his shoulders. He would have been an explorer, hacking down vines with a machete on his way to excavate a forgotten temple. Perhaps once he may have been a general charging on a destrier, or even a king issuing commands from a sandstone throne. But now he was nothing more than a glorified clerk in shirtsleeves, his powerful hands relegated to the mundane work of cleaning and cataloging. It seemed like such a waste, yet the mere thought of his fingers performing delicate tasks on priceless materials sent a shiver down her spine that went straight to the fork of her legs.
Since he wouldn't bend down, she slid her hand to his shoulder and pulled him to her as she stood on her toes to meet him. "Zelda," he whispered, and she ran her tongue along the fullness of his bottom lip. His body twitched under her palm and his mouth opened slightly as he exhaled. She leaned into him, and the tip of his tongue met hers. The muscles of his arms and the lines of his face were hard, but his tongue was pure softness. She caressed it with her own, teasing him as she tasted the spice of his mouth. He kissed her tenderly as he slowly found his rhythm in the dance of their lips and tongues. All of Zelda's attention was focused on the heat of Ganondorf's skin, and she lost her balance and stumbled.
He caught her and then, to her immense surprise, lifted her from her feet. He pinned her between the wall and his body, supporting her with his arms so that her eyes were level with his. He didn't give her any time to consider the situation but immediately kissed her again. With his tongue on her lips and his hands on her ass, Zelda felt herself melting into him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. The feel of the broad planes of his chest turned the peaks of her breasts into hard points that were quickly becoming unbearably sensitive. Zelda raised a hand to Ganondorf's face and stroked his beard, imagining what it might feel like between her thighs.
Suddenly a sharp blade of anxiety cut into her mind, chilling the warmth of her skin against his. Underneath Ganondorf's cologne Zelda could smell smoke, and in her mind she saw black clouds of ash rising into a gray sky. She could feel the tremors of an aftershock vibrating through her body, and her ears rang with the phantom screams of the people trapped within the walls that had surrounded Castle City before the earthquakes brought them down. Although this had happened more than a hundred years ago, the vision was as clear in Zelda's mind as if she had experienced it herself.
Her nerves were flooded with a surge of panic. By the goddesses, what was she doing with this man? She had only just met him, and she'd come to talk with him about serious matters. In what world was the possible doctoring of old immigration records a prelude to this sort of behavior? What if somewhat at her office knew what she was doing? What if her father found out? It would be the end of her, she wasn't allowed to –
"Zelda. Are you all right?"
The smooth baritone of Ganondorf's voice brought her back to reality. There were no screams, and no tremors. The smell of smoke was gone. There was only Ganondorf, holding her in his arms and looking at her with an expression of concern.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," she apologized. "This isn't very professional."
Ganondorf set her gently down on her feet and stepped back. Despite herself, she couldn't help glancing at the hard ridge in his trousers.
Ganondorf looked away from her and turned to face his desk. "Perhaps this isn't the best place to talk," he muttered. "Listen, can I invite you out somewhere? There's a great Rito place just up the street, and..."
Zelda's face burned with shame. They would go out to dinner, and then what? Would they have a drink? A few drinks? Would he suggest that they continue their conversation at a hotel bar? Would they go back to his place? Midna was always telling her that she should get out more, but she wasn't at liberty to enter into a relationship with just anyone. She had once had a date with a Goron boy, who had asked her out to a freshman dance at her high school. It was an innocent sort of affair, just two classmates being friendly, but her father sat her down and gave her a stern talk afterward. A person in her position, he said, needs to be seen with the right sort of people. It wasn't a race thing, he assured her. If the Goron had been an ambassador's son, that would have been perfectly acceptable, but someone from a mining family that was upper middle class at best was beneath her. What would he say about a museum curator? Her father's opinion was so stupid and petty, and yet...
"I should probably leave." Zelda sighed. It had been a long day, and her thoughts were running away from her.
"Right." Ganondorf walked to his desk and picked up a manila folder perched on top of a pile of books. "So I've, uh..." He cleared his throat. "I've prepared a file for you that you may find interesting. You can call me if you want to talk more."
He turned back to her and gave her the folder. Zelda could smell the freshness of the ink on the photocopies as she took it from his hand.
"You have my number, right?" he asked, his eyebrows raised as he looked down at her.
Zelda smiled in response. Of course she had his number. Ganondorf seemed so powerful and in control of his every action, and this small show of nervousness was endearing. He was a bit strange, but at least he was human.
"I'll show myself out," she told him, opening the office door and stepping into the corridor. "We'll be in touch."
Ganondorf didn't say anything, but he stood in the doorway and watched her as she walked away. Zelda could feel his eyes on her back. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation. As she gripped the file tighter against her side, she wondered what she had gotten herself into.