family connections & ensuring your bloodline survives is a prominent thing among the gerudo, if mostly due to the fact they do not have any males aside from ganondorf himself. purity of bloodline is not something they often concern themselves with, as inevitably, each & every one of them will bear some mixed blood from having to venture out & find men outside of the tribe.
subsequently, it is of no surprise that ganondorf fell into the same sort of mindset that to ensure the survival of their tribe, he must also play his part in fathering children, & ensuring that their lineage carried on. across the timelines, he has had dozens of children, many of them growing up to become leaders of the gerudo, others still partaking in their royal lineage or some shape or form.
he has only partnered with other higher-ranking nobility within their tribe, mixing his blood with gerudo women either apart of their hierarchy, or high enough on the ladder.
evil as he may be, corrupt as his soul has become, ganondorf bears a fondness in remembering his children, & a sense in pride in recognizing them from ancient tomes documenting the progression of the gerudo. likewise, it is crushing to be reborn in a timeline in which they were all slaughtered, knowing that they had been among those lives that had been lost.
Leon crinkles his brow a little as he drags the black vivid marker over the slippery jersey material. He’s not always the best when it comes to getting recognized - he’s lucky that it doesn’t happen too often. His big, generic white guy look tends to work for him that way - he’s just every other Welshman with a beard when he’s away from home. He doesn’t tend to get spotted too often when he’s not in Wales, so it’s a little odd to be recognized by the bloke pulling pints.
Once he’s finished scrawling his signature across the back of the jersey bearing his last name he hands everything back across the bar top, scratching his cheek awkwardly, the man tucking the jersey away to gift to his nephew later. Leon’s surprised when the man sets a pint glass in front of him, freshly poured.
“On the house,” the man claims, and Leon gives him a bit of a smile, wrapping thick fingers around the glass of the handle.
“Thanks,” He murmurs, bringing it to his lips, grateful when the man turns away to serve someone else, leaving Leon to his own devices.