3: Savage
Even though he denied their prejudice, he couldn't help but wonder what the silver cutlery was worth.
High brow and nasal, the many voices taking part in light dinner conversation would fill the large hall with ease, each guest speaking louder than necessary with an upturned nose and want for their drivel to be heard. No matter the subject, the noblemen and women of Hyrule seemed to think whatever they said was valuable, each sentence a masterpiece that could only be appreciated by—and indeed, were only meant for—pointed ears.
Not a one of them suspected their menial chatter was wasted upon the pair of distinctly rounded ears among them.
He had noted with distaste that over the course of his stay in this castle, the Hylian 'high born'—elitist and shallow as they seemed to be—regarded him with only two apparent perceptions. Some addressed him like one would a brutish savage, with slower words and simple gestures, raining pity upon him for his own 'primitive' culture and trying to educate him on things like etiquette and decency to the tune of their own 'civil' society.
Others, thinly veiling their discomfort, obviously had no tolerance for allowing 'thieves and whores' stay so close to riches and nobility, and often wondered what had possessed their King to invite them. They were dismissive and quick to point out flaws without the mercy of the previous, though it had been made clear that most everybody simply thought of the impending treaties like some sort of bad sale; buying a defective and exotic product one had no use for, simply for the fact it was cheap.
Golden eyes swept the large dining table, barely any of its redwood visible beneath the large platters and silver cutlery. Piles of food unnecessarily cover it, providing a banquet that would serve three times as many as the scant twelve gathered around the table. Already he could see that their scraps, cold with neglect as they talked, were of a quality and quantity to pass as middle class meals, sitting only to be wasted upon plates of precious metal too exquisite to be used.
He was the only one that had neglected to gather such heaps of meat and fruit onto his own, simply unable to do it as the fine filigree and pristine quality shone with a gentle wink to him. Such a treasure was to be displayed and taken care of, admired for its workmanship and the impeccable quality of the silver. It was perhaps fortunate for him that his appetite had waned in watching the others so ungratefully stuff themselves, utensils scraping the surfaces with careless abuse, their gluttony hidden quietly within stifled movements considered 'polite'.
A large woman with a nose to thin for her fat face cocked her head toward him, chins holding a disgusting sort of wobble as blue eyes silently took stock of his empty plate. "Lord Dragmire, I do hope you aren't feeling ill. You've not touched a morsel… I had been under the impression good food was a scarcity in your desert, but with the way you act, I'd sooner believe you to be fasting!"
She laughed with a flimsy wave of her chubby hand, turning a knowing look to the others as the mirth chorused about the table, some sort of inside joke they clearly thought him too ignorant to realize.
The Gerudo's sharp teeth took to abusing the inside of his cheek, preventing harsh words as his mouth avoided a sneer, swiftly converting it into a grimace and an evasive sort of hum. "…Yes, well… You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not accustomed to such large meals at this hour. That aside, I'm still adjusting to your… tastes, Lady Grantham." he uttered quietly, his rich timbre holding an accent that stuck out in such company like a sore thumb.
"Ah, yes, the spices…" ventured another man from further down, his drawn and wrinkled features projecting an age far greater than his voice would suggest. "I don't suppose you people have such luxuries. It would be a shame to deprive yourself, given the circumstances of their price and rarity…" He leaned forward to catch the Gerudo's eye, sending a pitying look that seemed almost smug as he took to a chalice of wine. "The fact that it has real flavour may make the meat a little strong, but once you've had a few bites, I'm confident you'll appreciate it."
Lady Grantham was quick to nod in agreement, her stiffly groomed brown hair not moving in the motion as it was held in place by ornamental clips. "Oh, dear me, I had almost forgotten about that… But he is right, of course, I know I certainly couldn't bear to eat an unseasoned meals. How bland!" she held a fat hand to her swollen bosom as it threatened to spill from her dress, her eyes wide to emphasize her aversion to such a thing as her digits came to toy with a ruby necklace.
"And such a waste of good rabbit, to simply boil or roast it like that; you know they're almost as rare as the spices, now." Came another haughty voice into the mix. "It takes a mindful huntsman to track them nowadays. I remember when I was a child, the fields were full of them."
He couldn't hide the scowl that formed, disgusted with everything this evening had offered, and as his fingers drummed upon the wood he couldn't help himself; golden eyes snapping to the fat woman.
"Has anyone ever thought to declare them protected until their numbers grew strong enough for the hunt again? I'm fairly confident a few years without rabbit wouldn't kill you." He growled, gruff as he gestured a large hand toward her stomach, specifically.
She stood immediately, a loud gasp attesting to how affronted she was as her jewelry rattled, though the wobble of her large frame only served to prove his point. The hand held to her chest again, she glared down her nose at him. "How dare you!"
The corners of his mouth twitched some, a sense of satisfaction tugging at them to form a smirk as he heard the scraping of another chair, one of the Lords cleaving to the woman in order to calm the situation. The table had fallen silent in the wake of one small comment, the fat woman ushered aside and fanning her face as if she may pass out, spouting her offense at the boorish thief's insinuations to the consolation of the other.
Probably feeling lightheaded from standing so quickly; Gods know it takes a lot of energy to lift that much, he thought with some dark humour, watching her reactions from afar.
Tentatively, one of the slimmer of the nobles cleared his throat, sending a half lidded look of superiority down the table at the Gerudo King. "Have you ever eaten rabbit, Lord Dragmire?" he asked simply, a thin brow raised as every set of eyes turned to look at the savage among them.
Ganondorf's eyes narrowed dangerously toward the man, and leaning back in his chair with a belligerent cock of his head, the Gerudo answered honestly. "No."
A vindicated hum came from the other as he immediately seemed to dismiss the imposing thief, taking a silver fork to gather a few morsels upon it and hold them poised to be eaten as he inspected the meat. "Well, then… Perhaps you shouldn't be so quick to punish others in jealousy." Green eyes sent him a pointed glance, holding only scorn where before was feigned pity, popping the meat into his mouth in spite to chew it slowly.
It took only a moment to see the same sentiment reflected in all of their faces, a damning silence in the room now that the Gerudo had spoken here. "Though I suppose we should be grateful you've not developed a taste for them. Your women might well steal the last Hyrule's rabbits, if you found them to your liking… But at the very least, you would not touch the spices." Haughty laughter rang out once again, filling the room and showing clearly the double chins. "Plainly boiled is fit enough for a King where you hail from, isn't it?"
A grand joke it was, precious rabbit wasted upon a savage.
A twitch of unbridled rage flew through his veins, hatred doubling instantaneously for the pompous and supercilious people gathered around him; though they would not see the dangers it was forging just yet. Every insult he'd bottled up, all the contempt he'd received, would be returned to them in good time, he knew, but still he could not linger here any longer to endure. A painful scrape of his chair signaled his departure, his silence squashed under their chatter as the Hylian Elite resumed their meals, ignoring the heavy sound of boots or the temper fuelled slamming of a door to continue light jests at his expense.
The silverware that lined the seat he had filled would remain untouched, unsullied, until the servants took them back in hand to be put away. With the Gerudo about, it was sure to see twice the security it usually would have, though this effort was in vain. All the treasures of this place, whatever remained of their rabbits in the field, and even the cutlery were already as good as his.
No one would be laughing then, but him.