Chapter 14: Wind

…In the nights, a bitterly cold wind sweeps through you, as if you were not even there. It howls around you without care for whether you were alive or dead, for soon enough you will be gone, and that wind will still remain…

The quill tip drifted then from candlelit parchment, hesitant in its pregnant pause, before finally removing its slim shadow from the fluid Gerudo script beneath. With a sigh, a heavy hand would set the task aside, returning quill to inkwell and allowing it to rest there with an unfinished page for lonesome company.

These were thoughts that brought his weathered body an old ache, and his bleak heart an even older sorrow and despair.

Whipping the sands outside of these fortified walls, the subject of Ganondorf's musings did indeed lash the land with a harsh and unmitigated assault, muffling the heavy scrape of wood upon stone as he eased his chair back to rise. Even with the wooden hatches closing off the window like slits in their walls to protect them, the weary Gerudo King could tell by the chill in the air alone how late into the night he had strayed.

This hour was not going to afford him any better clarity in which to write these familiar things; this draft documentation of his home and culture, prepared for no less than the Hyrulean Royal archives by request of their sovereign. An early and cordial show of civility, he knew, meant to bolster the supposed respect for one another's newly allied peoples.

Biting back on the cynical grimace his lips twisted to form, sceptical of how such relations would endure with the wounds of war still so fresh and running tired fingers through crimson hair, Ganondorf resigned himself to rest. Despite the pitching roar of the gales outside, he tempered his massive form to stealth, shifting quietly through his own chambers with muted, bare footed steps. Golden eyes traced the path before he took it, scanning for any potential obstacle in the dim and flickering light, careful for fear of waking her.

Nabooru's temper could match his own, when riled by a disturbed slumber—so rare it was she slept peacefully, these days, he had taken habit to staying up and allowing her to first fall unimpeded into sleep before joining her. It mattered little that it was his bed, or what most of their sisters may think inconvenient or taboo; ignoring their King's comfort before their own willingly.

But he found his own rest was better taken, when slumber invited him with the subdued vision of her first and the gentle rhythm of her breathing to lull him after.

It caught him by surprise when, half way through easing his bulk through the somewhat too narrow space of an ajar door—simply to avoid the creak of it—her amber eyes followed the movement, alert and awake as ever.

An awkward moment of silence lingered between them with only the sound of the desert's fury to liven it, lover's caught witnessing a private show of affection otherwise untended. Nabooru knew of his odd habits, and he of hers, but both resolved to leave them be and ignore them for the most part. To witness them and acknowledge they were there, was to invite more burdens upon an already strained relationship.

They would hide their love from even each other, and there in the shadow of feigned ignorance, it flourished.

And so she passed by his attempts to be subtle, tucking them away as if he had barged in and woken her rudely, as anyone else would've expected.

She averted her gaze as he righted himself and the door came creaking wide, swiftly rolling her eyes to cover any surprise she might have had by his rare consideration. Scoffing, tanned cheek squashed lazily against pillow, the Thief looked unimpressed by his joining her.

"Not that I need beauty sleep, looking as I do… but if you insist on stomping around like a Labrynnian elephant at this time of night, you'll wake the entire fortress."

Only a hint of sarcasm graced it, talented as she was in tailoring her tones, and the pensive scowl he wore deepened for it.

"If they can sleep through your snoring, Nabooru, the steps of their King should do nothing to perturb them further." he hissed back, low and resentful—he too had mastered the syllables his tongue could form.

Slipping corded muscle out of the arms of his cotton robe, he would sneeringly convert the motion into a careless toss, casting the garment at his company with a want to cover her.

Not that he didn't enjoy the sight of her flinching to catch it, broken from her naked sprawl upon his sheets as her peaceful silhouette was shattered and replaced with a flurry of copper skin and long, fluid tresses. A huff and a vivid amber glare followed the now shirtless King as he meandered toward his bedside, and his second would use the robe as a whip to lash him for such rudeness.

Thick fingers would catch the abused material as it breezed his arm, a strong grip stifling her efforts as the sudden game drew a smirk to his lips.

A small tug of war would ensue, futile as it was but stubborn as both of them would ever be; her body twisted to gain leverage as her foot lashed out toward his abdomen. His heavy palm was quick to meet it, sending the limb to one side of him as his knee fell to the folds of the bed between her thighs. Still she fought him for the robe, pressing a hand to his chest to keep him off of her in a struggle they both enjoyed, but would never admit to inviting.

She hissed and spat at him, defining new forms of treason for the slanderous titles she adorned him with.

He silenced her with one final tug of the robe, drawing her close enough to smother those acidic lips and taste the sweet nectar within, claiming some small victory.

He could document every facet of his people, of the harsh nature of his home, but these memories were his and no Hylian would ever know them. She held within her the very fires of what kept the Gerudo alive—kept him alive—in this hellish place, where even the wind threatened to strip the flesh from your bones. They need not dabble on shows of romance, nor entertain the notion of proclaiming these moments to the world, or each other. Surviving was a blessing enough in itself within the valley, and so they did not think and show and faun, but act and live and breathe.

The winds of his desert would carry her away as dust one day, he knew, much as it pained him to admit…

…but for now, she would lay hidden in his bed chambers, protected from the ravages of time for as long as his passions could keep her there; safe and his alone.