WARNING: This chapter contains an incident of brief sexual assault. Turn back now if this is triggering for you!
Summer, Year of the Great Kingdom 592
The dress was the most beautiful thing Telma had ever seen. It was a deep forest green, edged with silver and accompanied by a white-silk shawl to drape over her shoulders. It looked so delicate and expensive, she was afraid to put it on – but the tailors and her father were waiting. Slipping back behind the bathing curtain, the young woman dropped her dirty, misshapen linen dress, and gently lowered the garment over her body. The fabric was as soft as water gliding over her skin and the color softly complimented her darker complexion. It was tightly drawn against her skin – like a glove – but it did not squeeze her body at all, except for the fabric corset build into its torso.
Gormund did not own a mirror – he could not afford one – so Telma was forced to step back out from behind the curtain and judge her appearance based upon the men's reaction. Shyly looking down at her feet, she rocked back and forth slightly, making the skirt swish and twirl as she waited for them to speak. When no one offered her an opinion, she glanced up at her father. A strange sort of awe was in his eyes and his mouth hung partly open as he stared at her.
"H-how… does it look?" she meekly asked. He closed and opened his mouth again several times, but was unable to think of the right words. Softly, the master tailor spoke for him, "And she lay beside the waters with them. She was light, beauty, and life – the mother eternal. Holy goddess, whom all Human-kind would faithfully serve." Tears streamed down Gormund's face as he swiftly nodded his head "yes" and waved his arm at the tailor – noting his agreement.
After a few final checks and small adjustments, the tailors declared their work complete, and departed. For the first time in her life, Telma felt beautiful. It was so wonderful, but so strange to feel so… good about herself. The shame and disgust that always seemed to hang over her, briefly evaporated, and she was content just being herself.
Gormund saw the men out and slowly returned to the house. Telma was worried about him as he seemed to have a downcast, depressed air about him. "What's the matter papa?" she asked, "Do you not like it?" Her old fears returned, and drove her bliss away as she looked down at her dark skin once more. "No, no – of course not honey!" he answered with a hoarse voice, "You… you are so beautiful!" He was crying silently again, and she stared at him in confusion, "What is wrong then?" she asked. Blowing his nose into his handkerchief and wiping his eyes, her father croaked, "You've… grown up so quickly! You… you look like a woman now. Where is my little girl – Where is my little Telma… who loved diving into the garden and finding the potatoes for 'papa'?"
She couldn't bear to see him cry like this – her own throat clenching and tears streamed down her cheeks. This man had taken her in when her mother wanted to throw her away – and here, he was revealing just how much joy he had taken in having her. The cherished memories of them growing and bonding together; would soon be coming to an end. With a whimper of, "Papa" she stepped toward him and raised her arms to hug him, but Gormund suddenly leaned back away from her.
Chuckling nervously, he glanced at her bodice and back up to her eyes, "You'll want to be careful with those now, honey!" he said, then waved to her to kneel down and allow them to hug cheek-to-cheek. They held each other for some time, grieving and rejoicing in the change that had come to their lives. With a warm kiss on her cheek, her father whispered, "You are so beautiful my dear… Your mother would be so proud of you!"
She didn't say anything, but those words struck a painful chord in her heart. That woman had abandoned her child! Why would papa say that she would be proud of Telma?
The next day, Telma and her father drove their empty potato cart and mule down the Hylian road and approached the Lord's Fortress. Gormund wore a white, ruffled shirt and black trousers -with a dark green vest to match his daughter. He appreciated the tailors' skill and Dame Neva's generosity, but the soft, thin garments felt strange against his rough skin and made him uncomfortable. "Don't fuss papa! You look… handsome!" his daughter tried to encourage, but the old farmer just couldn't shake the feeling that he looked like a fool. "Don't worry about me, honey." He answered, "Tonight is about you!"
The exterior of the entire citadel, from the base of the outer wall to the top of the highest tower had been meticulously washed with lye and so the great stone fortress now stood out against the red mountainside behind as one magnificent, ivory palace. Azure and Silver banners flew from every mast-point, and a massive garland of flowers was hung along the length of the outer wall. Even the guards standing beside the open gate wore wreaths of flowers around their shoulders, or around their helmets – like crowns. Telma's old fear of the fortress faded as she stared up at its beauty in the mid-day sun.
Though they were armed, the soldiers standing by the gate were relaxed and offered cheerful smiles at all of the guests that arrived. One even grunted, "Gormund" with a nod to Telma's father as they passed, but she felt every uncomfortable second of their astonished stares when they saw her sitting beside him. Her papa just grunted back, "Sargent" with a nod of his head and kept driving the mule forward to the stable inside. "Don't worry," he muttered softly, "They have just never seen such a beautiful girl before!"
The gathering of guests was immense; over a thousand commoners, off duty soldiers, knights, barons, and lords gathered in the hall of Aryn. Telma had not been this terrified since the night her mother left her, but her father held her hand tightly and continued to assure her that everything would be alright. Just as Neva had predicted, nearly everyone in the hall who saw them, stared in wonder at the little farmer and the tall, beautiful, bronze-skinned woman that he escorted. A few dark scowls, or rude sneers leaked through, but on the whole – most of the men in the gathering watched her with an eager curiosity.
She had hoped, that this would give her a thrill of excitement and help her to feel accepted and beautiful, but, sadly, this was not the case. Their stares made her even more self-conscious of how different she was from all of the other women and she was exposed here - laid bare for all to see – when she and her father had worked to hide her for so many years.
The ceremony was beautiful – though Telma could see very little as she and her father were directed to stand near the back of the hall. Lord Aryn strode in at its beginning, wearing a suit of brilliant plate armor from the neck down and a long Azure cape, adorned with ten silver diamonds – a pattern of four, then three, two, and then one at the bottom. He was handsome, tall, and firmly built. His deep, ocean blue eyes struck all with a powerful sense of strength and wisdom, but Telma was taken far more by his wonderfully golden blonde hair and short-trimmed beard. She had never seen a man who looked so clean and pure, yet so mighty and strong before. After him followed the minister, the honor guard, and several important dignitaries, until -finally- the bride herself.
Once the oaths had been recited and the bride and groom anointed "in the name of the Goddess", the couple were proclaimed to be married and the entire hall erupted in cheers as the two departed. Lord and Lady Aryn would retire to their private quarters in the high tower, while the guests were treated to a lavish party in their honor under a massive tent in the courtyard. Food and drinks flowed freely to all and the mood became bright and cheerful for the happy day.
For the rest of the afternoon, Telma and her father made polite conversation with anyone who approached them, and the young woman gradually became more at ease. The people continued to glance at her and whisper to each other, but several of the handsome young men had begun to catch her eye and smile softly at her. "You see, honey?" her father muttered, "It's not so bad!"
But as the day grew longer and the wine flowed more easily, the mood began to change. What were once innocent glances and sweet smiles swiftly turned to hungry leers and lewd comments. Gormund did his best to distract his daughter and encouraged her to dismiss these as "just the wine talking", but soon, a tall, lanky man wearing a golden chain about his shoulders, pushed his way through the crowd and stumbled up to her – followed by a nervous servant who kept struggling to keep his master steady.
"P-please, Sir Guru! You are not well!" he tried, grasping the man's arm. But Guru tore it away, barking at his assistant to leave him alone. The man was as tall as Telma, but possessed a very slight build. He was a Faronian Hylian – a son of the Governor of Faron – and very dark skinned himself. But, unlike Telma, his Hylian ears were quite long, and could not be mistaken for anything other than a Hylian man of the south. "You…" he bubbled to her, "Yer… pretty." Blushing deeply and with her heart pounding, Telma lowered her eyes and curtsied lightly to the drunken knight. "I am honored, Sir Guru." She answered softly.
With a disgusting burp, he wiped a hand over his mouth, and plainly stared down at Telma's bodice. "Hmmmm… you could handle a whole litter with those!" he declared, swaying precariously to one side and having to be propped up by his servant. Gormund's face turned a dangerous red as his daughter's mouth fell open in shock. "P-please, pardon him," the servant began, "He's very dru-" but a hard smack from Guru's elbow on his chin cut him off. "Silence! … dumb… dog!" he slurred, again nearly falling to the other side, "I am… talking!"
Unable to fight a nobleman, Telma's father quickly wrapped an arm around her waist and began to lead her away. "Come on, honey. Let's go!" he muttered. But Guru was determined to get what he wanted, despite his drunken haze. He threw both of his hands forward, shoving Gormund to the ground and grabbing Telma's dress by the blouse. "Dumb peasant! … I'm not done!" he belched, before roughly handling her. "Mmmmm… Why don't you… come back with me? To Farr-rr-rron? Be my Bronze Goddess!" he groaned.
In an instant, a furious maelstrom of emotions raced through Telma's mind: Complete shock that a strange man would just come up and grab her like this, disgust that she was being touched in this manner, furious rage that he had pushed her father down, and terror at the idea of resisting a member of the aristocracy and risking imprisonment.
But in that moment, as Guru turned his drunken eyes up to her own and drooled down his own chin, Mama Vai's words suddenly leapt into Telma's mind: You must be strong! Without hesitation, in one swift movement, she fiercely struck her left hand against the side of his head – tearing him free from her body and throwing him onto the floor, unconscious.