Chapter Text
July 17 th
Father’s expected to be home today. I know I should be happy to see him, but I will miss having the house to myself. When he’s home, I must return to my “womanly duties”, but if I stab myself in the finger while trying to embroider a silly pattern on a dull patch of fabric one more time, I do believe I will lose my mind. At least let me embroider something lovely, or exciting. The stitchwork he chooses for me is terribly ugly. I wish I could embroider something like that flower I saw in the marsh the other day; I cannot wait to explore further and find it again. I didn’t actually enter the marsh. I’ve never been past the tree line, but I saw the flower from between the willows. I have never seen anything quite like it. It looks like a lily, with lovely blue and white petals. I’ve sketched it in my journal, but I’d like to try and capture it in thread, or paint, but I fear Father will discover it and my exploits will be uncovered at last.
I’m truly lucky to have such kind servants. If they liked me a bit less and Father a bit more, surely they would’ve mentioned it by now. I still feel awful for exploding at dear Paya last week. She’s still in training, after all. She couldn’t have known any -
Skrrtch.
The pen scratched roughly against the paper, and the flow of ink sputtered to a stop. Zelda sighed, setting the pen down. The inkwell must be running dry again. She’d have to ask her father for a new one. She was amazed he’d brought her a pen at all, a real pen, but the ink ran out so quickly! She supposed she always had her bag of pencils and charcoals as a back up, but there was something pleasant about writing with ink. It felt permanent, and meaningful. Scholarly, even.
The sun’s rays shone soft and warm through the window, bathing her little desk in light. Zelda tugged at the curtains, trying to open them a little more to get as much sun in her room as possible. If not for her plants, at least the light would dry out her journal. She hated it when the ink smudged.
Zelda stood, stretching her arms high above her head, a bone or two popping delightfully in her neck. Her hair tickled at her shoulders; she wore it loose and messy when her father wasn’t home, but she’d have to put it up in braids before he returned. She’d probably enlist Impa to help…it was a long and tedious chore, trying to wrangle her thick, golden hair into some semblance of proper style. Not for the first time, she wondered what her father would do if she chopped it all off with a stolen kitchen knife.
“What do you think, Terrako?” she asked, turning to face her bed. “If I had shorter hair, you’d have less of it to eat.”
The cat in question, or, rather, the lump of white fur on her quilt, gave no response.
“I know you can hear me,” Zelda chided. Her bare feet slid across the wood floor; she should be wearing shoes, or at the very least, stockings, but shoes were so restrictive and her father wasn’t here to be upset with her, anyway. She fell backwards onto her unmade bed with a soft thump, nearly sending her embroidery (and Terrako) tumbling to the floor. She gave the embroidery hoop a stinging glare. The design was simple enough, and would take her only an hour or so to finish, but it was so dreadfully boring that she couldn’t help but avoid it.
“Perhaps I’ll pretend to be working on it when Father returns,” Zelda said aloud. “Then it’ll seem like I actually enjoy it.”
Terrako twitched an ear, and Zelda sighed again, staring at the gentle slope of her ceiling. Her bedroom was in the attic gable, the only room on the third floor of the Bosphoramus manor, which gave her as much privacy as she pleased from the bustle of the lower levels, and her father. He rarely ventured to the attic, which allowed Zelda to decorate to her heart’s content with whatever she saw fit.
The result of this was a room that looked more like a forest than an eighteen year old girl’s chambers. She’d filled the room with plants; untamed English ivy trailed off her bookshelves, and vases of Robbie’s flowers lined her desk and vanity. A wild fern Zelda found in the back woods one day grew in a pot she hung from her ceiling, and along her windowsill sat little cups of dirt where she was trying to grow assorted saplings and seeds. On her desk, along with her journal and writing supplies, rested a glass jar she held shut with a piece of cheesecloth tied around the neck, and inside a perfect little cocoon hung from a segment of twig. She’d discovered the cocoon in the orchards outside the manor, and she’d spent hours flipping through her encyclopedias, trying to guess what type of lovely creature would emerge.
Zelda traced the simple pattern she was slowly creating out of thread. Once she’d finished the piece, she’d give it to Impa to sell in town. It was a routine they’d done for quite some time, ever since Zelda decided to become the official First Female Scholar of Castletown: Zelda would embroider patterns during the week, as her father expected, and Impa would sell her work in town to whoever wanted it (Zelda couldn’t imagine who) and return with a small bag of coins for Zelda to hide under her mattress.
Zelda wished she could sell her embroidery herself. She wished she could go to town at all, but her father disproved of her going unaccompanied, and apparently Impa, Purah, and Robbie didn’t count as accompaniment. He claimed it was unladylike. Eighteen years of living in Castletown, and she had never been to the actual town proper. She wondered if the whole town thought her a shut-in.
“I might as well be,” Zelda muttered. “Stuck inside, learning how to be a proper lady. It’s all so boring!”
With a groan, she rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face into her pillows. In all of her books, the daughter of a rich man had plenty of excitement in her life: balls, suitors, fancy dresses and pearls and servants waiting on her hand and foot. They weren’t stuck inside all day, expected to learn to cook and darn socks and the proper method of addressing unmarried men.
Zelda supposed she did have servants, but she couldn’t imagine Impa or Purah putting up with her if she ever became particularly snobbish. Paya might, but she was still a servant in training. And Zelda had never even met another man besides the ones that lived in the manor.
Her father forbade it, of course.
Zelda sighed again. She reached out to scratch Terrako behind the ears, and he cracked open his one blue eye to acknowledge her, purring lazily. His little brown feet kneaded at her quilt.
“I don’t really want fancy dresses or jewelry anyway,” Zelda told him. “It would be difficult to explore when you’re concerned about ruining your hem or losing a ring.”
A soft knock at her closed bedroom door drew her attention, and Zelda strained her ears to hear Paya’s quiet voice on the other side. “Miss Zelda?”
Zelda sat up, flattening her skirts and her unruly hair, still unbraided. “Come in, Paya.”
Paya nervously entered, creeping into the room on silent feet.
All you servants walk so quietly, Zelda thought. They all came from the same family, the Sheikah. Perhaps it was genetic.
“Master Bosphoramus has returned from his trip, miss,” Paya said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “He requests your presence in the parlor.”
Though Paya, only fourteen to her older sisters’ nineteen, had worked as a servant in training with Zelda’s family for a while now, over a year, she still remained as nervous as she was on her first day. She stammered and wrung her hands about and fiddled with her apron, though she had stopped dropping as many dishes when she got startled. Today, however, she seemed especially flustered, her cheeks flushed red and her hands brushing at her pale hair where it sat knotted at the nape of her neck.
Zelda noticed all this immediately. She had excellent observational skills, after all. She prided herself on it; it felt very scholarly of her.
“Are you alright, Paya?” Zelda asked gently.
Paya started, as if she forgot Zelda was there at all. “O-oh, yes, Miss Zelda. Perfectly alright. Your father is requesting your presence.” She blinked her big, lovely brown eyes. “Did I…did I say that already?”
“You certainly did,” Zelda laughed. She got to her feet, scrounging around for some stockings. “Is it urgent?”
“I believe…um, it is of some importance, miss.”
Zelda quirked a brow. Her curiosity piqued, she tugged a little more urgently at her stockings. “I hope it’s a surprise,” she said jokingly, but Paya only flushed harder and remained silent.
Darting over to her vanity, Zelda smoothed her hair back and started to braid deftly, choosing to only braid her front hair, forming a little crown around her head. At least that way it wouldn’t look as if she just awoke.
“Has he told you how long he will be back for?” she asked Paya.
“He only told me to fetch you, Miss Zelda. He said nothing else. Um, except that it was urgent.”
Typical, Zelda thought, ignoring the panic in Paya’s voice. Her father had a habit of coming and going, without bothering to tell anyone how long he’d be staying. “I suppose I’ll ask when I see him.”
Paya rocked on her heels. “Are you…are you planning on…going out again, sometime soon, miss?”
“Not if he’s home.” Zelda patted her newly braided hair, making sure everything was in place. Hopefully her father would be fine with her having the rest of her hair down. It wasn’t like they ever had company over, anyway. “That’s why I’d like to know when he’s leaving again.”
Zelda thanked Paya as she slipped past her into the hall, counting each creaking step she took down the stairs. Her thoughts raced in her head: whatever could her father want her for? Typically he bellowed a greeting up the stairs when he retuned, and disappeared into his study to plan his next trip. If he brought her something from his travels, like the pen, he’d leave it with Impa to bring up. He’d never called for her before.
Unless he brought something really exciting, Zelda thought, and smiled at the idea of it. Her father may be gruff and stern, and he may have his own ideas of how a woman should act, but he did love her, and he showed it through little gifts like pens and journals. He knew how much she liked to write, even if he mildly disproved of it.
“Ladies should keep busy through other means,” he’d told Zelda once, “and not by filling books with fanciful thoughts. But I suppose you’re not a lady yet.”
It had been a little backhanded, but Zelda got a journal out of it, so she didn’t complain much.
Impa, in all her understated beauty, stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs as Zelda descended. Zelda had always been envious of Impa’s looks. She had flawless skin and lovely eyes like melted chocolate, and the same silky, flowing pale hair everyone from the Sheikah family seemed to have. Though she had a twin sister, Purah, who shared the same face, Impa wore her looks differently, more elegantly. She moved with a kind of ladylike grace, and had a delicate laugh like the music of wind chimes (except when Zelda made her laugh really hard, and then she doubled over and snorted).
If anything, she should be the lady, and Zelda, with her common blonde hair, the housemaid.
“Hello, Impa!” Zelda said brightly. “Paya said Father’s called for me.”
“That he has, Miss Zelda,” Impa replied. “I’ve been waiting for you to make an appearance so I can make sure you look like the lady your father is expected.” She glanced over Zelda’s soft, forest-green gown and stockinged feet, and clucked her tongue. “He’ll be glad I did. Your skirts are wrinkled. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”
Zelda brushed at her skirts half-heartedly. “You know as well as I do that I don’t like them. They pinch my toes.”
“A tragedy, surely.”
“You’re taking quite the tone with me. I ought to have you fired.”
“My apologies, Miss Zelda,” Impa said drily. “Do be sure to tell Master Bosphoramus of my grievances against you. I’m sure you’ll be rid of me in the morning.”
Zelda pressed a hand to her chest, faking a gasp. “But then who will make sure Stamm bakes fruitcake on the weekends? I shall die without it.”
Impa laughed her sparkling laugh and shook her head. “You shouldn’t keep your father waiting. You know how impatient he is.”
“Oh, I know.” Zelda rolled her eyes and crossed the landing to the closed parlor doors. They stood tall, dark, and heavy before her, and she found herself hesitating before knocking. Anxiety brewed deep in her stomach, and she traced the grain of the wood with her gaze before turning back to Impa. “How do I look?” she asked, hesitantly. “Proper?”
“Perfectly ladylike, Miss Zelda, despite the mud on her hem.”
With a real, horrified gasp this time, Zelda gathered up her skirts, trying to find the offending hem, but Impa’s teasing laugher made her face flush with embarrassment when she realized there was no mud at all. “Impa! Don’t tease me like that! You know how strict Father is when it comes to my appearance.” She said the words harshly, but she didn’t mean them, which Impa knew.
“You best not let him sit in there for much longer, then,” Impa said lightly. Her tease had broken through Zelda’s cloud of worry and eased her mind away from frightening what-if’s, if only a little.
Zelda glanced at the parlor doors, worried at her lip. “Do you know what he wants me for? Has he found out?”
“If he has, I haven’t heard of it. And we certainly haven’t told him. I am unsure why he has called you, but I doubt it is anything horrible. I didn’t see him when he entered, but if he were truly upset with you he’d make much more of a fuss than simply sending Paya to fetch you.” Impa crossed over to Zelda as she spoke, reaching up to adjust the braids atop her head, and tucking a few stray hairs behind her ears. Then, in a softer, quieter voice, she added: “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Thank you, Impa.” Zelda squeezed her hand slightly before letting go, turning to face the doors again. She screwed up her courage, closed her eyes, and knocked, the sound sharp and loud in her ears, the wood hard and unrelenting against her knuckles. “Father? You called for me?”
Gods, is this how Paya feels all the time?”
Zelda heard her father’s low, rumbling voice address someone in a words too quiet to understand before calling her in. Purah, who was inside, opened the door for Zelda and gave her an unreadable look that did little to calm her nerves.
Zelda rarely ventured into her father’s study, but it was a nice room. The doors opened to wide windows along the eastern wall, and a fireplace directly across from the doors, in front of which sat her father’s desk. The hardwood floor had a well-made, expensive-looking carpet, bought off a merchant he’d met in some faraway town, and lining the western wall were many mahogany bookshelves filled with records and business papers.
Her father sat at his desk, the day’s paper held open in his lap. Rhoam Bosphoramus was a large man, intimidating in stature, with neat white hair tried back from his face, and a long, well-kept beard. His eyebrows were thick and weighed heavily on his stern green eyes, giving the impression that he was always cross (and with Zelda, he frequently was). His typical traveling cloak, a fine piece of heavy black and blue fabric embellished in gold, hung on the coat stand near the door, a sign he would be home for at least a week. He wouldn’t bother to take it off otherwise.
And standing before him was a complete and utter stranger.
“Zelda, finally,” her father grumbled, barely glancing up as she entered. “When I call you, I expect you to be prompt.”
“Yes, Father. I will try to be quicker next time.”
At that, Rhoam did look up at her. “You will be quicker next time. A lady comes when she is called.”
Zelda resisted the urge to roll her eyes, scream, slap her father, run out of the room…she hardly knew herself. “Yes, Father,” she said, forcing obedience into her voice. Her eyes strayed to the stranger in the room; he had remained perfectly silent during this whole exchange, his eyes flitting back and forth between Zelda and her father as if he were watching a riveting game of cricket.
Zelda forced herself to look at her father instead of the stranger. The second she diverted her attention for too long her father would surely tell her off for being impolite.
Rhoam stroked absently at his great snowy beard, studying Zelda in that uncomfortable way of his, and turned the page of his newspaper. Zelda and the stranger stood in silence for a moment, watching her father read. Neither looked at each other, and the atmosphere in the study got progressively more uncomfortable until Rhoam finally folded up his paper, leaned forward in his chair, and gestured vaguely at the stranger.
“This is Link,” he said gruffly. “He will be our new farmhand.”
At this, the stranger - Link - turned to face Zelda fully. She barely caught a glimpse of his face before he bowed, quick and neat. When he straightened, Zelda couldn’t help but notice, firstly, that he was short. Shorter than her, by several inches. The top of his golden-blond hair, tied back into a ponytail so messy that strands were falling out to frame his jaw, just barely met her jawline. He stood ram-rod straight, with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, and there was a kind of tenseness in his shoulders and his legs, like he was ready to jump into action at any second. He reminded Zelda, briefly, of a tightly coiled spring, and Zelda wondered if he really wanted to be here at all.
His shirt was the color of fresh cream, with simple green embroidery around the necklace, and plain trousers tucked into heavy brown boots. A rucksack hung off one broad shoulder, but it didn’t seem like anything was in it. His eyebrow twitched slightly under his scrutiny - she was just observing, he didn’t need to be so twitchy - but he gave no sign that he had anything to say to her at all.
In fact, he didn’t even meet her gaze, not directly, instead opting to respectfully look at her forehead, but Zelda truly felt better because of it. When Link had come out of his bow, his eyes had met hers, for just a brief, breath of a moment, and the intensity of his gaze had startled Zelda so much that she almost forgot how to curtsy. His eyes were such a brilliant, vibrant blue, like the petals of that strange, lovely flower she’d found in the marsh.
What kind of a name is Link? Zelda wondered. She drew a bit closer, stepping to the middle of the room, and noted how he seemed to tense even more as she got closer, that tense line in his shoulders drawing even tenser, though his face remained expressionless.
“I am pleased to meet you, Link,” Zelda said politely. “My name is Zelda Bosphoramus.”
Link’s blue, blue eyes met hers briefly before he averted his gaze. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, but said nothing.
“I hope you enjoy your employment here at the manor. Are you fond of animals?”
He blinked. His expression didn’t change, but after a beat, he nodded.
Zelda smiled awkwardly. She didn’t know how to carry on the conversation if he wouldn’t reply. Or, perhaps, he couldn’t speak at all? But would it be rude to stand here in silence? She cleared her throat. “Where do you-“
“Please do your best not to frighten him off with incessant questions,” Rhoam interrupted. A quick glance showed he was still reading his paper. “Impa, fetch Robbie to come and show the boy around. Purah, go make up a bed for him in the servant’s quarters.”
“Yes sir,” Impa replied, and Purah echoed, before they disappeared on silent feet, and left an uncomfortable silence in their wake.
A thousand questions settled on the tip of Zelda’s tongue.
Who is he? Where did you find him? Why does he own so little, if he is to live here? How old is he? Why doesn’t he speak? Is he mute, or simply shy? And most importantly, if he finds out my secret, will he tell you?
She forced all these questions down. Proper ladies didn’t ask questions. At least, according to her father they didn’t. Rhoam shot her a look when she shifted on her feet, as if reading the curiosity in her eyes and willing her to stay silent.
Life promises to be extremely boring if I’m not allowed to ask questions, Zelda thought, but held her tongue all the same.
Zelda glanced at Link again once Rhoam returned to his paper. Link had adjusted his posture so he wasn’t looking at either her or her father. Instead, he looked out the window with that unreadable expression.
Could she trust him? She only told the other servants because she truly trusted them to keep her secret. They were her friends, and they supported her, no matter how improper her ambitions might be. But would Link? If her father found out what she did when he was gone, or worse, if he found out from someone in town…Zelda feared she’d never leave the manor ever again.
Zelda nervously patted at her skirts. It had been barely more than a minute but the silence was killing her, though it didn’t seem to bother Link, and it certainly didn’t bother her father. If only Impa would hurry with Robbie. Not for the first time, Zelda wished she could hear their footsteps, but they were all so blessed quiet! The seconds ticked by, and the silence grew stronger, and Zelda’s thoughts catalogued everything wrong with her imperfect appearance, trying to figure out how angry her father was with her.
A proper lady wears shoes. A proper lady has neat hair, and holds her head high. A proper lady doesn’t allow cat hair on her skirts. A proper lady isn’t suspicious of the new farmhand, because there’s literally nothing to be suspicious about, Zelda, you’re being ridiculous.
“Zelda.”
She snapped to attention. “Yes, Father?”
“You’re fidgeting.”
"Oh.” Zelda quickly stilled her nervous fingers. “I’m sorry.”
Link said nothing. His habit of doing so was becoming increasingly apparent. He did, however, glance toward the door just a second before Robbie made his grand entrance.
“Helloooooo, Master B!”
Robbie’s voice echoed through the study as the man himself materialized in the doorway.
Did Link…hear him coming? Zelda thought incredulously. The Sheikahs were as silent as ghosts. There was no way.
Robbie caught Zelda’s eye and winked at her as he entered the room. He must’ve been in the gardens; his neat blue trousers and work boots were coated with soil. He adjusted his huge round spectacles and ran a dirty hand through wild hair and shot a crooked smile at Rhoam.
Robbie was a curious man. He overtook most of the duties of the household, part butler, part valet, part footman, and part gardener. He, too, was from the Sheikah family, a cousin of Impa, Purah, and Paya, evident from his distinct hair color and lovely brown eyes. He also had the largest, most brazen personality in the world, in Zelda’s mind. It was a wonder her father put up with him. He could barely put up with her.
Robbie gave a snappy bow as he addressed Zelda’s father in his cool, slow voice. “Delighted to see you back with us, sir. The little lady behaved perfectly in your absence. The very picture of elegance and grace, sir, as always.” He smiled at Zelda as he said this, wide and sparkling, before turning his attention to Link. “Who’s this strapping young lad then, hmm?”
“The new farmhand,” Rhoam said flatly. “His name is Link. I expect you to show him around and instruct him on his daily tasks. Afterward, you will show him to the servant’s quarters.”
“The new farmhand, eh? I see! Pleased to meet you, lad!” Robbie chirped, grabbing one of Link’s hands from behind his back and giving it a vigorous shake. “You’re simply going to love it here at the manor. Yes…I can feel it. Shall we be off then, sir? We can stop at the stables first, how does that sound, lad?”
Link, to his credit, didn’t seemed fazed by Robbie’s presence, or his volume. Zelda had been watching closely to try and catch a reaction, and she thought she saw Link’s eyes widen just a bit in what might’ve been surprise when Robbie nearly amputated his hand, but his empty expression gave away nothing else. Zelda was sure he was about to be subject to a very long tour of the manor, with plenty of unnecessary information about Robbie’s wife and son (and his horse, Cherry) included.
“Yes, yes, be off.” Rhoam waved a hand. “I expect a full report of anything that happened in my absence, Robbie. I will meet you here after dinner.”
“As always, sir,” Robbie replied brightly. He bowed against, bouncing on his heels, before practically dragging Link out of the study. Zelda felt almost bad for him, but then those heavy wood doors slammed shut, and she realized she was completely alone with her father. Her father, who had already criticized her three times.
Zelda turned to face him. He had his cheek propped in one large hand as he read, the paper still resting on his knee. Surely the Castletown Inquirer couldn’t be that interesting. Did he expect her to start conversation? Was he waiting for her to do something? What if this was all a test to see if she was ready to enter society, and she had failed because she wasn’t wearing shoes?
Gods. He would never let her go into town.
“It is nice to have you back, Father,” Zelda said, hesitant, awkward, clunky. Was a daughter supposed to be nervous when talking to her own father? It hadn’t always been like this, had it?
Rhoam hummed. “It is nice to be back. I have plenty of business to conduct in Castletown while I am here.” He turned a page. “I hope to get it done before I leave.”
“I see.” Though she did want her father to go, there was a small part of her that desperately wanted him to stay. Wanted him to want to stay. For her. She couldn’t remember the last time they ate dinner together; she always ate alone, in her room. If he stayed longer, would that change? “Will you be leaving soon, then?”
Rhoam replied disinterestedly. “Yes. Soon. There is land in one of the further towns I’ve been contracted to take a look at to determine its worth.”
“Which town?”
Rhoam paused in his reading. Looked up at her with stern eyes. Her eyes were green, too. Like his. “I would assume you have duties to fulfill, Zelda. I’ve seen today that you still have improvements to make with your character. I would suggest you work on them.” He dropped his gaze back to his paper, and if he noticed the way Zelda flinched, he didn’t acknowledge it. “You are dismissed.”
When Zelda turned and left his study, the door shutting heavily behind her, she wondered if he noticed her leave at all.
Impa stood outside the door, her expression sympathetic. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. It wasn’t the first time Zelda had collapsed into her arms, Impa stroking her back and whispering soothing words into her hair.
The worst part of it all wasn’t that Zelda knew it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last time.
No, it was the fact that her father knew, and it hardly affected him at all.