Summer, Year of the Great Kingdom 592
Four days after the Dame left them, a small group of Hylians arrived on horseback, carrying several large bags. These men were dressed in fine clothes and did not carry any weapons. When Gormund went out to speak with them, they quickly swept the hats off of their heads and bowed low to him. "Greetings! Honorable Gormund! We have been sent by Dame Neva, at the Citadel of Aryn, to provide a dress suitable for the lady of your home." The master announced.
In the blink of an eye, the dress-maker and his apprentices swept their bags into the small farmhouse, moved the dining table to the far wall, and set up their mobile workshop right in the middle of Gormund's home. Telma, terrified of the newcomers, hid herself behind the bathing curtain at the far end of the house, and timidly peeked around its edge to watch them prepare.
"Now then," cried the tailor when they were ready, "Where is the beautiful lady?" Gormund's face flushed for a moment, before he softly called, "Telma? Come here honey. It is time." After a few seconds of hesitation, the young woman slowly opened the curtain, and stepped out into the room. She folded her hands tightly in front of her waist, and stared down at her feet. Surprisingly, for both Telma and her father, none of the three men gasped or made any sign of discomfort at all at her appearance. Instead, they slowly and reverently bowed to her – held it for a dramatic pause – and straitened up again.
"My lady," the master began, "It will be an honor to dress your beauty in our silks." She smiled and wrinkled her nose slightly as she giggled. No one had ever spoken to her in such a delicate fashion, nor complimented 'her beauty'. "Now," he continued, "We will need you to remove your outer dress, my dear, for the most accurate measurements. At your leisure, please." Telma's smile quickly wilted, and her father's face turned nearly purple with rage. "You… WHAT?!" he shouted as he stepped toward the tailor.
"Please, Master Gormund!" he cried, stepping back from him, "There is no dishonorable intent, I assure you. We are professionals – we have dressed all of the ladies in the western reach! Even the bride of Lord Aryn! It was I and my assistants that prepared her wedding gown." Gormund stopped, but the veins in his eyes continued to swell, and his hands were clenched into hard fists. Breathing quickly, the tailor added, "I understand you, sir, truly. But in order for our dress to… compliment your lady's beauty, we must have the most precise measurements."
The protective father considered the tailor's words for a moment, before stepping beside his daughter. "We dare not waste the Dame's money…You must do this." He growled, "They will not harm you; I promise. Would you like me to leave?" Shivering with anxiety, Telma quickly shook her head "no" to him. "Alright, I'll be right here then." He answered and sat on a nearby chair. Gormund felt awful, being present when his teenage daughter had to reduce herself to her undergarments – but he resolved to keep his eyes upon the floor, and just listen for any sign of discomfort from her. She was frightened, and did not want to be left alone with these men.
True to their word, the three men worked as professionally and honorably as any man could. They were quick, precise, and emotionally detached from everything that they did around her. When it came time to measure her bust, the apprentice inclined his head and gently whispered, "Your pardon, miss." Before measuring her dimensions. Throughout, Telma's heart was pounding and her throat nearly closed in apprehension, but her papa was close, and none of these men had said or done anything that gave a sign of contempt or impropriety.
When they finished with their strings, ropes, measuring tapes, and other tools, the three men once more stood before her, and bowed their heads. "We are honored by your trust, my lady. You have the form and beauty of a goddess. You may dress at your pleasure; we have what we need now." The master recited.