Chapter Text
Zelda snuck in through the kitchens in order to avoid being discovered by her father. The kitchen staff gawked at her muddy dress and bare feet, but were not surprised. Zelda had never been very ladylike, much to her father’s dismay, and she often attempted to evade his notice by entering through the kitchens and taking the servant’s stairs to her room, and the staff had gotten used to seeing her dirt and grass stained appearance. As she got older she took greater care while specimen hunting, however she didn't always emerge from her discoveries unscathed.
She had successfully made it up the back stairs and had nearly made it into her room, hand poised to turn the doorknob, when her father suddenly rounded the corner from the main stairs. She froze, steeling herself for his inevitable censure.
“Ah, Zelda, there you are!” he said. He stopped short, finally having gotten a good look at her, the genial look on his face quickly shifting to one of shock and dismay. “What in Hylia’s name happened? Just look at the state of you!”
“Good afternoon, Father,” Zelda said, desperately trying to pretend nothing was awry. After the morning she had, an argument with her father was the last thing she wanted.
“Good afternoon?! You look like you fell in a pond!” he said, disapproval threaded through every word.
“Ahhh well …” again she felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. An argument was not to be avoided, it seemed. But she supposed the day couldn’t get any worse by this point. Keeping her mind on the octorock pieces waiting in her basket and determinedly away from sandy haired gentlemen with blue eyes had been the only thing that had kept her from dissolving into despair after the events at the pond, and she latched back on to those thoughts to carry her through this moment.
“I was walking about the pond near the woods when an octorock surprised me,” Zelda said, unwilling to lie to her father but also unwilling to give too much detail. “I’m afraid I was so surprised that I lost my balance and fell into some mud. Thankfully a kind gentleman came to my rescue!” She knew he’d see right through her story, but she threw in the last bit in a desperate bid to prevent her father from taking too close a look and asking too many questions. It almost worked, the prospect of her having encountered any gentleman worthy of mentioning enough to momentarily turn Lord Rhoam’s thoughts from his daughter’s bedraggled looks.
“A gentleman, eh? Surely he escorted you home after such an encounter … but the servants did not announce a visitor,” Lord Rhoam mused. “What was the gentleman’s name?”
Her father regarded her suspiciously, his interest at the news of a gentleman beginning to curdle as he realized the rules of propriety may have been overlooked. Zelda felt nervous. She knew the final straw supporting her father’s patience was beginning to bend and she feared the events of this morning would be the ones to cause it to finally snap. But she still felt unsettled from her encounter, unable to shake the image of her mud-streaked hand in the grasp of the gentleman’s clean white glove, her muddy feet next to his shining leather boots, and her mouth seemed to begin moving without waiting for her brain to catch up.
“Um, well, I may have forgotten to enquire after his name in my haste to bring these octorock parts home after he was so kind to fetch them for me from the pond.” What was she saying? Zelda bit her lip, wishing she could reel back time a bit and say something less scandalous. Why had the goddesses cursed her with such an overactive tongue when she was nervous? She had been so anxious to escape home, only to run right into another predicament.
Zelda held her breath as her father’s face began to redden and he swelled with indignation.
“Forgot?! Octorock parts! Fetched?!” he sputtered, throwing his hands into the air. “Zelda, that is enough! I have had it with you coming home covered in dirt and looking like a beggar. And now you’ve shamed yourself before this mysterious gentleman!”
“But father!” she began, desperate to present the situation in a less egregious manner, but she wasn’t given the chance.
“I will not have it! These experiments of yours are to cease. No more monster parts, no more broken Sheikah machines, no more vermin in my home! This is why you are not married by now! You spend more time on your so-called science research than you do on finding a husband!”
She wanted to argue. Vermin?! Frogs were valuable specimens! But they were slippery and sometimes hopped into the dining room during dinner parties. And she did regret that time she had dropped a jar full of crickets in the kitchen and they couldn’t clear the infestation for months. Sometimes you could still hear them chirping in the quiet of the night. And frankly what wouldn’t be broken after being buried underground for 10,000 years? Those Sheikah artifacts were part of Hyrule’s history!
But it was the slight against her research that hurt the most. It wasn’t simply a vanity project for her, she wanted to help people with her elixirs and mechanical designs. But her father never did understand that, viewing her research as a distraction from more ladylike pursuits like sketching and embroidery and music. But she was just as proficient in those areas as she was in her research, as the sketches in her research notes and the framed embroidery samples of ancient Zonai designs would prove. She’d even once given a performance on the harp of music from Hyrule’s past, many of the songs rumored to have magical properties. But since it wasn’t basic floral designs and current popular songs on the piano forte, he didn’t seem to think it counted.
At the end of it, she never could muster her courage in the face of her father’s displeasure. She knew he loved her and only wanted what was best for her, but she never felt like he really could see her for who she was. Ever since her mother had died when she was small, it felt like he had been trying to force Zelda into an increasingly smaller box, bound on all sides by his ideals of propriety. And until she married and assumed her own household, he would have the power to do so.
“Father, I …” she began. But she didn’t know what to say, her arguments dying in her throat. She knew he would not listen. Zelda could feel tears begin to rise up, but she swallowed them down against the lump forming in her throat. She refused to cry. She was not in the wrong here. Why did he refuse to understand her? Why must he take away the one thing she loves above all else?
“No. No more. We must only hope that word of your scandalous behavior reaches no further than the pond. Perhaps it is for the best no introductions were made! I cannot imagine the social impact of your snubbing a gentlemen after he was so good to come to your rescue!”
“I didn’t snub him! It was a mistake!” she cried, a bit childishly. Her father’s scolding made her feel small, like a naughty child and not like the young lady of 20 years that she was. She hated that she couldn't seem to help but respond in kind.
Her father continued his rant as if she hadn’t spoken.
“From now on you are to focus on finding a husband. I have indulged you for far too long. You are to attend every ball, dinner and concert you are invited to, and you will not bore your company with talk of science,” he declared. “I will send servants to clean that mess out of your room and to prepare a bath for you to clean yourself. We have an important guest for dinner tonight and I expect you to arrive the picture of a lady befitting the name of Bosphoramus. You will not embarrass yourself a second time.”
With that, he turned away and went back down the stairs. Zelda wilted against her door, feeling her tears of anger and frustration rising up again. And again, she stuffed them back down. Heaving a deep breath, she entered her room. She would not allow this to crush her down.
She looked about at the homey clutter. In lieu of a true laboratory, she had done the best she could in her room. Neat rows of labeled specimen jars and bottles, stacks of journals and research notes filled with her careful handwriting and detailed sketches, piles of books she had borrowed and bought on everything from developments in elixirs, to modern crop rotation techniques, to popular embroidery patterns of Kakariko village. The Sheikah Slate took pride of place on her desk, sitting in a space temporarily cleared of ancient fragments, miniature mechanical engineering models and experimental ship designs.
She knew she must act fast if she was to preserve a few of her research materials in order to keep from going mad with boredom. She could already hear the servants her father sent to clear her room coming up the back stairs. She snatched the Sheikah slate from her desk, and shoved it and a few of her books well under her bed. Then she gathered as many of her papers as she could and stuffed them under the bed beside the slate. It would just have to do.
After a knock, a train of servants entered, each bearing a crate or sack, and they began to pack up her things. She sat on her bed and dejectedly watched them take her books, research notes and specimens, grateful for the careful attention they paid to their packing, smiling sadly in response to the apologetic glances they shot her way. Most of their servants had been with her family for years, just like their parents and grandparents had. Their housekeeper Impa had been like a mother to Zelda once her own had died, raising her alongside her granddaughter Paya, who now worked as Zelda’s lady’s maid. So while they still followed her father’s orders, she could tell many of them were sympathetic to her plight.
While she watched the packing and clearing, Zelda reflected how much of her fate was also tied up with those of the servants and their families. If they lost the house because she was unable to make a suitable match and marry, the servants would lose their jobs, and, for many of them, the only home they had ever known. She was sure that with her family’s recommendations they would go on to easily find other work, but it wasn’t fair to expect them to disrupt their whole lives because she was too dedicated to the dream of finding a love match. She felt the shame she had repressed rise up again. She had been too focused on her own wants to think about the people that relied on her, and the duty she had to support them. She still believed she had plenty of time to find a husband and that her father was being overly dramatic in many ways, but she realized she would need to take the business of finding a suitor much more seriously. She sighed. The pressure of it all was beginning to feel overwhelming.
Once the servants had cleared the room of her research odds and ends, another team of servants entered, lugging in a large bathtub and beginning the laborious process of filling it with buckets of hot water from the kitchens. Once they were finished, Paya entered to assist her in removing her ruined gown, and to comb the worst of the pond mess out of her hair. Paya was the closest thing Zelda had to a friend; patiently mending the tears Zelda put in her gowns in pursuit of a new specimen; listening with interest, real or feigned, to Zelda’s gushing reports on the latest science journal she was able to read; and providing a shoulder to cry on and quiet words of encouragement at Zelda’s frustrations at finding a suitor to make her father happy. Paya gently squeezed Zelda’s hand in silent support, and Zelda smiled back at the girl, feeling a fresh wave of guilt for the extra work her muddy afternoon had made for her and the rest of the staff.
Perhaps her father was right, and it was time to put her research and experiments aside. Even though her theories and experiments were aimed at helping people, creating machines that could aid in farming and other industries, elixirs that could lend strength to the weak, or heal the sick, she had to be honest with herself. She never focused on one thing long enough to reach a solid conclusion, often distracted by the next rare insect she found, or the latest artifact she discovered. Perhaps all she really did was create messes others had to clean up, and let them down when she didn’t focus on the one thing she needed to: finding a suitable husband.
Muddy clothing removed and the worst of the mess combed out of her hair, Zelda climbed into the tub and sank into the hot water, grimacing as she picked out the remaining sticks and rotted leaves Paya’s comb had missed. She gave a deep sigh. She knew her looks were not to blame for her lack of suitors. She had received many compliments on her large green eyes, and her masses of golden hair. Her dowry was ample as well, as the sole heir to her father’s and her mother’s estates. Despite that, Zelda had no beaux, no admirers. She supposed most gentlemen would not want to court a strange girl who frequently smelled of oil and the acrid smoke of failed experiments. Who wanted to spend time with a girl who prattled on about insects and the latest discoveries in technology? Who wanted to be seen with a girl whose dresses frequently sported dirt and grass stains from her ramblings about the country searching for new specimens? None of the eligible men of her acquaintance, that was for certain.
She wished again her mother was alive. She had died when Zelda was very young, and her father had largely left her upbringing to his staff. Impa had been a wonderful caretaker, loving and firm when she needed to be, but she simply wasn’t able to guide Zelda in the finer points of life as a lady of quality, or prepare her for courting and matchmaking. Perhaps her father thought she would naturally fall into the lifestyle of a lady, instead of pursuing her true interests, most of which were considered as unbecoming of a lady. Zelda didn’t remember much of her mother, and so, having no memories to compete against, she created a fantasy mother, who sympathized with her daughter’s interests, who understood and facilitated her desire for a love match, who provided the kind of support Zelda didn’t feel her father could provide.
The stress of her need to find a suitor and the argument with her father turned in her mind as she was careful to scrub the mud out of her skin and dig it out from under her nails. Thoughts of her mother made her think — she may not have her mother any longer, but she did have the next best thing. Godmother Urbosa had been close friends with her mother, and had cared for Zelda for a time after her mother had died. The ball her father was so eager for Zelda to attend served as the unofficial beginning of the social season in Castle Town, when people of the noble and genteel classes would gather in the city for socializing, merry making, and most importantly, matchmaking: Young men in search of a wife to run their households, mamas hoping to catch a wealthy gentleman for their daughters, and young ladies hoping to find love.
Perhaps some time away from her father and Lanayru was in order. She did not think she could tolerate an entire summer at home without her research — a distraction was in order, and what better to occupy her and satisfy her father than spending the season in Castle Town? Urbosa had a townhome there; Zelda wondered if she might convince her to come to town and act as chaperone? She would write to Urbosa as soon as she had the chance. Zelda was pleased with her scheme: As much as she held a distaste for the more vapid aspects of the social season, Zelda was craving Urbosa’s motherly presence, and her sharp wit, endless connections, and sense of fun would certainly guarantee an interesting summer.
She wondered what kind of gentlemen she would meet in Castle Town. Many of them she had known for years and had already crossed them off her list of potential matches. But there was always someone new visiting the city for the first time, or making their debut, or bringing in a cousin from a distant land. Was a love match truly such a distant dream? The city was full of chance and opportunity no matter where you were. You never knew who you could meet, even when you weren’t trying. She could run into her future husband anywhere — at a ball, in a shop, on the street … or by a pond.
Her treacherous mind returned to the gentleman who had come to her rescue, his blue eyes, his good looks, and his kindness. For a moment Zelda wished she had gotten his name, and had given him her own; but no, she could not face him again after making such a scene as she had this morning. And she had to admit she knew nothing at all about him, not his name, or where he lived, or anything. He could already be married! She certainly couldn’t ask around about him without revealing her escapade in the pond. But … he really had been quite handsome. And a bit heroic. She thought of how he’d waded into the water to gather monster parts with no hesitation or complaints. She thought of how his wet trousers had clung to his … well. That was enough of that.
At last she had scrubbed away the last of the dirt and clinging mud from the pond, and stood to get out of the bath and begin the process of dressing for dinner. Zelda doubted such a fine gentleman as that would be interested in seeing the mud-soaked girl he’d found in a pond again, no matter how kind he’d been to her. She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts, and grabbed a towel to begin drying off before calling Paya back in to help her dress.
She had to put the morning’s events out of her mind and forget about him. Truly, her chances of encountering him again were small, and it wasn’t worth her energy to fixate on him when she had so much more to plan for. She needed to focus on being the charming company her father desired for his guest at dinner tonight so that he would be accepting of her plans for the summer. She wondered who the guest could be, and why her father chose to not tell her.
An alarming thought occurred to her — what if it was the mysterious gentleman? But no, that was too ridiculous, she could not imagine her father having a connection to such a fashionable young man as that. It was likely some old friend of his he had been too upset to disclose at the time. Zelda was sure she had nothing to worry about.