Chapter Text
The Promise
Mechanically, Link stroked the rag over Epona's side. One, two, three, and again. His horse neighed, puffing out a breath that stood white against the darkened walls even in the relative warmth of the stable. He had pushed her, not to come here quicker — no, far from that — but to take his mind off grim thoughts.
It had helped nothing, just as the simple task of rubbing the sweat off Epona brought no relief.
Sighing, he leaned his arm against her, resting his forehead on the fine wool of his tailcoat. He wasn't supposed to get his breeches befouled in the stables.
If his mother found out that he lingered here, doing the dirty work of a stable boy, instead of socializing, instead of making her acquaintance… he took a sharp inhale. It was inevitable — no detour with Epona, and no extra work would change that.
The wooden wheels of a carriage hobbled over the cobblestone in the courtyard, accompanied by the heavy hooves of two carriage horses. The stable hands who had gone after their tasks without the right vigor suddenly got skittish, stumbling over each other on their way outside.
Link stood up.
Maybe the clicking of the doors of the carriage was his clue to finally get it together. He dusted his traveling coat off, adjusted his cravat, and gave Epona a last pat. The narrow passage that marked the way through the horse accommodations became longer and longer. Step by step – it was like walking down the aisle. Or to the scaffold.
High-pitched laughter rang through the windows of the stone building and Link cringed. That could only be the Poe sisters. They were of flesh and blood, obviously, but the four girls from a mansion deep in the Forest of Hyrule were as pale as they were evil and the gossipers weren't beneath giving them a fitting nickname. No one ever invited them to the fancy balls at their houses so they were stuck with attending public balls.
Link shuddered. Just like him, even if his circumstances were very different and he had a good reason to be at a tacky event like this. However, he couldn't flee all the social trash that came with it forever, try as he might.
"Did you see her last weekend?" One of the sisters, probably the oldest, Amy, hissed, her voice harsh with insult like the starched collar of his linen shirt. Link's steps coast to a halt. No way was he putting his foot into the courtyard now, not with these hyenas around.
"I heard she blew up some kind of experiment! I tell you, she's a witch."
It was impossible to not overhear them. The stables were built airy and light; the horses needed fresh air and the stable hands gossip.
"I don't know what kind of experiment that was, but if she managed to burn half of her hair off, it's surely nothing a lady of quality would entertain. Have one of you ever taken part in an experiment?"
"Apart from that weird kiss from Mr. Fado?"
Another fit of laughter, even eviler. Link's eyes slipped shut. The parents of these girls dragged them to every available opportunity to marry them off and they took full advantage of that. He would have to warn his friend that he had to keep away from them, no matter how desperate his own parents were for making a good match. An heir was important, Link understood that, but not for the price of being mocked and degraded for the rest of his life.
"Oh, I pity the poor man who will end up with her. Imagine not being safe in your own house because your wife boils snake tails and cuckoo claws in a secret lab every day. I bet she's only blonde from the sulfur that she puts in her brews."
"I wouldn't even drink a single cup of tea in that house in his stead. I bet nothing is safe from her weird experiments. She'll probably poison him. Completely accidentally."
"Maybe"–Robes rustled and heels clicked over cobblestone–"Maybe she puts the sulfur into her hair herself. And that's why it burned to her skull."
Link just wanted them to finally go. How long did it take four so-called ladies to get out of a carriage? He refused to admit he knew who they were talking about. But weren't they the witches here? Never in his life had he heard only one of them say an honest, friendly word to someone, a habit that drained the energy from everyone around them.
The clattering of heels on cobblestones grew quieter and quieter and eventually, the evil words spilling from their mouths, too.
Link took a moment to breathe the air smelling like hay and horses. He would go to the ball and meet her. Soon.
Hooves clapped and the carriage's body groaned when the stable hands relieved the horses from their load. "Seems that they don't know the news already," a male voice said, approaching.
"Hm?" The other stable boy asked.
Link rolled his head on his shoulders and marched off. Skies, he had enough of gossip for a lifetime.
"You know, her father died this autumn. What I heard is that there's an old promise between the Forester family and hers. Something about the old men and brothers-in-arms, not sure, I don't understand the whole military nonsense."
"Wait, does that mean..."
"That one of the Forester brothers is betrothed to her."
"Why is she here then? She has enough money that she shouldn't be stuck with a public ball."
"Maybe she isn't pleased with her fiance and is looking for an alternative." Laughter accompanied the toxic words.
They entered the stable the moment Link reached the folding gate from inside. He tugged his waist coat in place and tipped his chin up. "Good evening," he said in passing, clipped and not without audacity.
Two pairs of eyes gaped at him, mouths falling open. Even the plumb carriage horse followed him with his head until he was outside.
"Was that…!?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, shit."
Yes, he was one of the Forester brothers. Yes, he was the one his mother had picked to marry off to her. Yes, he had heard all these stories and more about her.
An old promise they'd called it — they were surprisingly well informed. Who had spilled it? Their own stable boys? Most likely. Or maybe even the Master of Horses. Gossip was not only popular in Castle Town's town hall.
Link walked over the courtyard, staying close to the stable walls; not to overhear more nonsense about him but to shield himself from the harsh wind that blew through the gaps between the buildings. In front of the big doors, he fingered one of two envelopes out of his coat pocket and passed it to the gray man on the counter. It took an awfully long time and a lot of rustling of papers and observing him through a monocle until the man finally crossed his name from the list.
Link had never been to a public ball before and he already hated everything about this.
A snooty clerk guided him into the male changing room where Link swapped the boots for his slippers. The clerk relieved him of his traveling tailcoat, passing him a number to retrieve it later. Link tried to shrug off the deprecating look he gave him upon seeing his boots smeared with stable grime but he wasn't very successful in it.
Now to find the Master of the Ceremonies for an official introduction…
With a wistful side-glance to the cards room, Link gathered courage and determination alike and entered the ballroom.
People. There were people everywhere. He could hardly see the dance floor because the borders were so full of chaperones clad in heavy silks and bored married men. The air was hot and thick from the crush of so many people, at least compared to the icy courtyard or the stables. It took all his willpower to not turn and go the way he came.
He slowly weaved through the ladies and gentlemen, looking for a point to start. Goddess, what was this? A nightmare? How could anyone enjoy a crowded event like this? He hadn't been too fond of the couple of private balls he had to participate in at his mother's pressure, but there had been hardly 40 people in total! How was he supposed to find a woman he hadn't seen in ten years and who obviously didn't even want to see him?
"Link!"
Wait, what? Who would address him so informally in a public place like this? Searching, he made his way to the dance floor where the call seemed to come from, his view again and again disrupted by large feathers and wide headpieces. Oh, it was Mipha!
The dance she had participated in with her partner, a tall, tasteful man, had just ended and the pair approached him promptly. She looked gorgeous. Her usually straight red hair was curled and piled up, framing her heart-shaped face perfectly. Link dropped into a bow, waiting for her to introduce him to the gentleman at her side. If he wasn't mistaken, his sharp features and the fine wool of his waistcoat meant that he was the wealthy gentleman Mipha made acquaintances with during her summer journey.
"Mr. Revali Tabantha – Mr. Link Forester." Yes, Revali. She had filled letter after letter, fancying the black, nearly blue-haired man. He had to admit that he was quite handsome (and aware of it, but that shouldn't be Link's concern). Handshakes were made and they exchanged the expected pleasantries. The gentleman was polite to the point that it didn't sit right with Link, but it was hardly something that he should complain about towards Mipha.
"Mipha, did you promise the next dance already to Mr. Tabantha or anyone else?" Link bowed again, hoping she saw how desperate he needed the next half hour to acclimate to this event that completely went over his head and her encouraging words to lighten his heart.
"Oh, no, I didn't. Revali aimed to accompany me to the refreshment room, but if you promise to take me there after the dance I can meet up with him later."
"Of course," Link assured them. Revali, huh? Since when were they on a first name basis? What else had he missed during the weeks he moped over his mother's decision?
Revali shuffled through the mannerly necessities, barely covering his gritted teeth. "So, you're the reason I have to spend my precious time in the presence of those people?" He jerked his head into the direction of the youngest poe-sister arrogantly waving an offer to dance off. "A public ball. I can't believe that I agreed to this!"
Mipha put her hand of his forearm and squeezed. "I told you that Link needs our support. This isn't easy for him either."
Revali glared at him over his shoulder when Link took over. "One wrong move, Forester, and you're done for."
Link sighed. "You need not worry, Sir, I'm here to make the acquaintance of my betrothed. I merely want to exchange a few words with my childhood friend beforehand."
That was enough for the proud man for now. He visibly relaxed and left.
Link offered his arm to Mipha and they took the place the Master of Ceremonies assigned them.
"So." The music started and so did they, Link shooting her a grin. "You're smitten."
Mipha cast her gaze down, blushing adorably. She nearly lost her footing, too. "I might find him not detestable, yes."
They passed each other, holding eye contact. "I think he hates me," Link stated dryly.
"Well, you come in and snatch me away, you wouldn't like that either."
"Is it official already with you two?"
"Yes." They stepped around each other. "More or less. Our parents agreed. But there are a few formalities left, so I still have to be a bit cautious."
Link hummed at that. To be honest, he had never invested much energy in learning the proper etiquette the ladies had to follow apart from the basics he needed to know to interact accordingly. And even that went wrong often enough; they already got side-eyed for their too-familiar behavior.
"Why are you so late? Revali nearly convinced me to leave again, he's a bit afraid of losing his reputation when he's seen at an event like this." Mipha asked.
"Thank you for sticking with me, it's much appreciated," Link murmured.
Mipha only shook her head, her curls gently swaying. "And as much as I appreciate catching up with you, shouldn't you dance with your bride? Or at least, organize a replacement for you?"
Link sighed and twirled her. "I should. I have no excuse other than I'm dreading the meeting and trying to postpone it."
"And making the poor girl sit alone at a public ball when she's probably still grieving for her father."
"No, Mipha, you misunderstood my letter. She doesn't know of the promise my father gave hers. She… doesn't know she's betrothed to me. At least I assume that since all my letters remained unanswered. I'm here to make her acquaintances and tell her so. It's the only chance I have."
They changed their rhythm to an easier pace, the agitated conversation not favoring a lively dance. Mipha thought about his words, her forehead showing a little crease.
"But why are you dreading meeting her so much? You dislike socializing a lot. Now you practically have a wealthy wife falling into your lap and you're still unhappy."
"Have you heard how the people talk about her?"
"Since when do you care about gossip?" Mipha shot back.
"The last time we met she made me eat a frog. A living frog."
"Link, that was ten years ago! She was eight!"
"I just hate how all this went, okay?" Link raised his voice, but immediately fell back into a whisper when he caught some glares. "I thought I had time. I thought…" He drove his gloved hand through his hair, putting it back on her shoulder quickly after. It was pointless to hold back now. "I thought I had time to find someone. And if I didn't… Well, I thought I could ask you because being married as friends is better than most have it, but now you have a handsome, stinking rich gentleman trailing after you and I'm betrothed to a witch."
"Maybe you should have informed me that I was your fallback plan," Mipha argued dryly, diving under his arm.
"It's pointless now. I would never ask that from you if you found someone you cared about. It wouldn't change the fact that I'm expected to marry her now, anyway."
"So now you're hoping that she declines you a dance and you tell your mother it didn't work out?"
Link gravely shook his head. "There's no acceptable way out. It's a promise we can't break. There's even written evidence. Our parents probably hoped they would all live long enough to see it become meaningless, but you know that my mother honors the memory of my father to the point of worshiping. If I don't follow through, I won't be welcome in my own family anymore."
Mipha squeezed his arm reassuringly. "I'm sorry, Link. You must feel trapped."
He nodded, the sour feeling in his stomach welling up once more. "I wish there was an alternative, even if only in theory. But there isn't."
"Well, their fallback plan was a bit more thought out than yours, I'd say." Mipha deadpanned and despite everything, Link chuckled. That was what he loved about her, Mipha always managed to pick him up again and if it was with a dumb joke.
The music drew to an end, and Link bowed, thanking Mipha for the dance, and offered his arm. With measured steps, they walked away from the dance floor, and Link admired the grace with which she floated through the room. It had been foolish and arrogant to assume that her shyness would make it difficult for her to make a good match, he knew that. It served him well that she attracted the attention of a rich gentleman; If he wanted her to marry him, he should have made serious efforts.
Like Revali, for example. He already awaited them with two glasses of punch, scurrying around her immediately like a bee around its favorite bloom. No, he thought to himself with a pang in his chest, Link didn't deserve her.
She accepted his bow with a soft smile, anyway. "Give her a chance, Link. Maybe it's not as bad as you think now."
"Good luck," Revali shouted after him and when Link returned to the ballroom, he wondered if he had imagined the snarl in his voice or if it had really been there.
The Master of the Ceremony was easy to spot, thankfully. He just returned from an introduction, looking for another gentleman who needed his assistance.
"Sir." Link bowed to the slightly arrogant man. "I, Link Forester, wish to be introduced to Miss Zelda Hyrule. I haven't been able to make her acquaintance yet, but it is of utmost importance that I do."
The balding man tipped his cane onto the marble to their feet, recognition and something else ghosting over his face. "Miss Zelda Hyrule, you say? I fear that is impossible."
Link shifted from one foot to the next. "And why is that, if the question is allowed, Sir? Am I misinformed and she does not attend the ball?"
"Oh, she does. However, I have an order from her chaperone to refuse any request for an introduction. Miss Zelda Hyrule… is not in the right set of mind to make acquaintances at a ball like this, according to her chaperone."
Link halted in his restlessness, frowning. In the right set of mind? That was rarely said about a sane person. But why were they here then? A public ball required the acquisition of tickets, it wasn't that she had received an invitation and couldn't refuse.
Something here was off.
With a sigh, Link pulled a second envelope from his vest pocket, unfolded it, and showed it to the man. "I fear I must insist, as you can surely comprehend."
Sharp eyes studied the neatly written letter. "Understood. I'll see what I can do, Sir. Please follow me."
Link did as he was told, heading after the accurately tailored coat tail of the Master of Ceremony. He couldn't shake the odd feeling that had crept over his back during the conversation.
A lady with a significant fortune, not even having reached the age of maturity, but already the center of gossip although she never attended any social gatherings before today. A chaperone at a ball, keeping their charge actively from making a good match. A promise between two old friends, meant to protect the lady in case her parents didn't live to see her married.
Nothing in this puzzle seemed to fit together and that wasn't even considering the odd rumors about what had happened to her hair or the elixirs.
Well, he would find out soon. The Master of the Ceremonies approached the back corner of the ballroom with measured strides. All Link could see was the opulent dress of a middle-aged lady, her flamboyant hair, and an extraordinarily big fan that she pointed at someone.
"Aha, there you have it, Zelda. Not a single gentleman is interested in you," she spat. Link stretched his neck, but he couldn't get more than a glimpse of the hem of a light blue dress, supposedly worn by his betrothed. "I'm relieved that we can put the vexed question of a potential marriage behind us. Maybe you'll finally understand now that it is unavoidable that your cousin is running your father's property for good."
We'll see about that, milady, Link thought grimly, but he was too anxious to spare the odd words any mind. The Master of the Ceremonies politely cleared his throat, not letting on if he had an opinion on this uncommon affair. Layers and layers of silk rustled – the burgundy dress was a bit outdated in its volume, now that Link thought about it – and the chaperone turned, raising a thin eyebrow at them.
Any words the Master of the Ceremonies and the chaperone exchanged were lost to Link. The nightmare in burgundy had finally revealed the woman who had shoved a frog into his face ten years ago, the woman who was whispered to be a crazy witch, the woman who had ignored at least a dozen letters from him.
And, he realized while his mouth fell open, she was a sight he was not prepared for.