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Zelda always woke up to her own Hylia-touched world. Caught in the strands of the light that filtered into her dorm room, it was Hylia offering the world to welcome Zelda into, just her small self in the early rays of pre-dawn. The soft rays that poked her, and not her roommate Impa, who had curtains on her bed just for soundproofing against Zelda’s early rises.
She often wondered if she was born with the early sun, not that her father talked about her birth. It was too close to her mother, who was a subject he wouldn’t touch. What she did touch with him was the apathetic midnight phone calls with him when Impa was off with a girl late at night. With the lights dimmed down, the calls informed her of her next goals—always the things she was doing wrong, not right.
Her engineering minor won’t take her anywhere, but she disagreed—that it would be additional to the public relations major that her father had wrangled her into. Arguing over majors hadn’t waned in the two years that Zelda had been at Hyrule University, but closer than ever to her declaration of a major and where the classes became tighter to take—well, it was only a matter of time before she would have to decide.
But the one thing they could agree on was figure skating.
Along with the daily prayers, the ice had been her second home since she was younger—swooping into aerials and axels from the time Zelda could toddle. One of the few things she could remember about her mother was how she flew on the ice, akin to a bird that swept across the lawn of the house they lived in at that time. Perhaps it was one of the only things she could relate to.
This came with university, when she won a full ride scholarship to go to Hyrule University to compete on his team. She still remembered the crack of joy on her father’s face, one of the rare moments where she felt like she lived up to her legacy of the Hyrule name.
Figure skating in university was so much different from her figure skating club when she was younger. At her academy full of girls, it was cutthroat. It started and ended with jealous girls in the locker rooms, with the eyes of the judges peering down on her through the plexiglass. Of the whispers of her father buying her way with the awards that hung in the living room—whispers that would follow her into the locker room and into her teenage mind.
But age often came with growth, and she grew out of it—she went to university, where she was appointed captain of the ice skating team at the end of the last quarter as soon as the last captain had graduated. It was her duty to make sure she brought honor to her university.
At least that’s what it was on fine print.
To her and her roommate Impa, it wasn’t as serious as before. She reclaimed it for herself—in the dizzying laughs of her teammates, in the flowing dresses that she got to pick out now. In the awards for her teammates that felt as rewarding as her own glee on the ice.
But still now, a whole decade later, she rose with the sun, dawn cutting across her shadowed sleep. She heard Impa’s faint snoring in her huddled bed. She pulled over her thick winter jacket, with the dawn light not offering any comfort of the warmth of the sun quite yet. Zelda didn’t lock the door; she had heard enough from Impa over the past months to not do that.
As captain, the old fraying key to the ice skating rink on campus rested with her newer keys on her keyring. Attached was a twinning Shekiah slate that Impa’s older sister Purah had given to them for university. She folded it in her fingers as the bus headed to the rink; she and the bus driver were the only ones who sailed to the nearby rink. Zelda could walk, but the cold caught up to her quite quickly.
Surprisingly, the keyhole opened on its own as she pushed it open the glass doors to the lobby open. But to not have to stay in the cold any longer, she shut it just as quickly, not wanting to take the time to mull over the worry that clung to her. The doors to the rink just up ahead, the clear black doors to the frosty air of the ice skating rink, were open to her.
She braced herself—she knew that the hockey team skated in an hour or so. They had just started up practice for this upcoming quarter, and this was the first day, or so she thought. She saw it on the schedule that hung right outside the skating rink.
Zelda heard the familiar sound of skates on the ice up ahead. Was it a captain like herself? Who else would be here at the crack of dawn? It was certainly someone, swooping on the other side of the skating rink as she entered, tightening her sweatshirt around herself. She saw speeding swirls of forest green and white, the colors of the university,
“Hey!” Zelda called, her voice cracking in the still air, and she winced as it echoed around the auditorium. She didn’t think they could hear them beyond the plexiglass wall, but they swooped closer. Their puck banged against the wall, shattering the silence like broken ice, but he ignored it briefly as he looked up—and finally caught Zelda’s eyes.
Zelda offered an awkward wave at them, and they came to the glass wall. They took off their hockey helmet, revealing blue eyes that were neither friendly nor unfriendly. Tawny hair filtered down around them, twin braids framing his eyes. It was a lean boy, the eyes as blue as the ice that he stood on. He was quite small for a hockey player, but the beat up helmet told Zelda otherwise.
He didn’t speak, however, expanding the awkward silence that Zelda felt surrounding the two of them. To her surprise, he signed:
Hello.
Zelda nodded, “I know sign language. I took it in high school.”
Based on the flicker in his face, Zelda read the wariness on his face immediately. And if someone signed, well, there was a reason. He wasn't deaf, but she knew there were other reasons for that. But she hadn’t encountered any up close, however.
He didn’t have hearing aids on, or at least not that she could see in his thick hair. She could see twin blue earrings, though, twinkling in the rising sunlight. They matched his eyes, sky-blue that matched the tunic that lay beneath his hockey gear, a peak through the forest green.
The boy leaned against the wall, What are you doing here?
Zelda straightened up, “I understand that the hockey team starts practice soon. But I’m allowed to be here before—”
No. Their hands interrupted her, and seemed a bit more frantic than any sign she recognized. I don’t mean it in that way.
He waved his hand at the bare sunlight filtering through the tall glass auditorium above them. It’s early.
Zelda’s ear tips flushed slightly, “I—the figure skating team has their rehearsals twice a week at the same time as the hockey team, on the other days of this week. I’m the captain. I get here early, so I just got into the habit of coming here every day.”
There's a pause as he scans her up and down. To the sharpened ice skates and her worn bag, along with the tea cup that she gripped like a death sentence.
My name is Link. He said, signing out his name with the initials instead of the actual sign of Link.
“My name is Zelda.”
Link’s face narrowed, like Zelda Hyrule?
“Yeah.” Zelda flushed just a bit. Her father, who had funded the newest building on campus, had been an alumnus years ago. A reason that she knew had some people whispering about nepotism among the university board members. Scholarships were in his honor, some seats in the theater were after him; it was only necessary that she got in here.
Link’s head tilted, as if trying to figure her out. What year are you?
“I’m a sophomore,” Zelda said and offered her hand to him. Was that faux-po when he needed his hands to talk? “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Whether it was faux-po, he shook it anyway, and signed Link Wild, captain of the Hyrule Hockey Team.
The name sounded so familiar—and Zelda remembered a magazine that Impa had put on her desk just a week before. It was advertising the newest teams for this season, and the guy’s face had been obscured in the blur of the photograph. But she had recognized the wisps of tawny hair that had peeked out of his helmet.
“The Silent Prince?” Zelda mused a bit, which, to her satisfaction, made the tips of his ears flush just a bit. He gave a sheepish nod.
“Hey!” There was a sharp call from behind her, and she turned around as Link gave an impeccable sigh that she was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear.
It was a tall Rito, his dark blue feathers layered in the shadows of the door. How hadn’t she heard him come in? He had a bag that he sat next to Link’s, crashing into the other boys.
”Link!” he called again. Link stalked over the Rito across the ground, with Zelda close behind.
”Am I interrupting something?” the Rito sneered, his feathered arms across his chest. “Is this why you wanted captain privileges?"
Link set on a scowl. He tugged up the Rito to the side and began signing where Zelda couldn’t see, in small, flurried signs.
Rito's eyes went up to his eyebrows, arching patronizingly at her. “You’re Rhomas’ daughter?”
Link hadn’t known who she was at a glance, and it didn't seem to matter to him—maybe he had just heard of the name beforehand. But this Rito certainly did, knew of the thing that he had done, and had recognized the first name of her father in the recent newspapers. She flinched at the first name.
Zelda didn’t want this arrogant Rito to know anything, but she held her head up high, “My name is Zelda Hyrule .”
”His daughter.” The Rito corrected with a sneer, but Link gave him a hard shove. He must be used to it from hockey, because it didn’t disturb him at all, or knock him off balance. “Zelda.”
”I’m captain of the figure skating team.”
”Which meets Tuesdays and Thursdays,” the Rito said, sharply.
“I was about to leave. I didn’t realize you both were coming to prepare." Zelda said. “I just come in to practice early, since I am used to getting up this early for figure skating.”
She held out a hand, but the Rito just snorted, not offering his feathered hand. “Well—“
Link nudged him again, sharper. The rito rolled his eyes. He held out a hand to her. Despite organizing them at first, there was definitely camaraderie there. Loose definitely, but they were both captains. Perhaps not friends, like her and Impa, but definitely teammates.
”Revali.” He stated, not offering her a last name. “And I believe you read our resident recluse, the Silent Prince Link.”
Link rolled his eyes. At least I practice. And who got into a magazine?
“I scored more goals last time.” Revali sniped back immediately, definitely a sore spot for him. “Being perfect is in my nature; there’s no perfection without practice.”
Link looked between the two of them. The rays of the sun caught in his tawny hair, lighting up his ponytail. He gave out a small sigh, one of the small noises that she had heard from him.
It’s alright if you come early.
Revali crinkled up his nose, “He says—”
“I can understand sign language,” Zelda said, and his eyebrows flickered up, as if actually surprised. She felt a twinge of pride at that. “I don’t want to bother—”
“You would be—”
You wouldn’t be.
The two captains let a glare at each other. Link tugged Revali a bit away, so all she saw was their jerseys for just a second. She heard Revali let out a surprised squawk. Then Link turned back to her, his face still impeccable.
As long as you’re out when Revali gets here, it’s all fine.
“What he’s saying is that when hockey practice actually starts, you’re out of here,” Revali said bluntly. The next sentence he seemed to grit out of his teeth, “I’m not usually this early, it’s just the first day of the season.” He nudged Link with a sharp wing, making the other boy wince.
Zelda’s eyes flickered between the two of them. Link, despite being smaller and less bulky than the Rito, seemed to have just as much authority over them, despite the Rito’s grievances with him. It was such a stark difference between her and Impa.
“Thank you,” Zelda said. What else could she get out of this deal? “You have access to the shed as well, then?”
“Of course we do,” Revali said, swinging his keys from the tips of his feathers from his pants.
“Can you leave out the orange cones tomorrow?”
Revali looked accosted. “Who do you think—”
We can make that work. Link quickly signed. Revali glared at him, but he ignored his co-captain. He held out a hand. It’s been nice meeting you, Zelda.
She shook it, which was surprisingly warm. They were hardened, which was expected, from playing hockey for so long, but they were warm—just for her.
The door was unlocked the next time Zelda came early in the morning. Yesterday, she had met with Impa bright and early, knowing that she would be there. It felt a lot more cheerful than yesterday’s gasp of silence throughout the arena when their teammates had first seen them as they came in. It had been a few weeks since she had seen them due to the break, but she had been more excited to see them. Rising earlier than the dawn was in her blood, to honor Hylia and have the minimal time to herself.
Zelda swung the door open, and she sipped at her tea. It was colder by now, which made her toss it. She should have had Terrako’s timer go off before it got too cold, but in her rush this morning, she hadn’t. Not that she was in a rush—it was a day when she would be here before the hockey day, but curiosity and nerves had fluttered against her chest as she thought of seeing the hockey players again. Was it because of Revali’s rough attitude?
That’s what she convinced herself it was.
In the middle of the stadium were the row of orange cones that Link had promised, fluorescent against the ice. He was weaving around the net on the right side of the field, swinging around cones, then swooping in to score. When the puck slammed into the pole at the bottom of the net, Zelda let out a low whistle, hoping not to startle him.
Link perked up when she wandered in. He skated over to her as she approached and set down her bag, just a seat or two above his own bags.
Hello. He offered a small wave, which Zelda offered back. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, but Zelda’s neck felt warm, and she ducked her head to get on her skates. What was up with that?
That was it. No chatting from there on out. She stepped onto the ice and blew out her anxiety in white puffs of frost. On this field, it was all hers—well, also Link’s. But there was a portion of the orange cones, about half, when she did a quick scan over at his own section. She positioned it in a circle and started with her warm-ups. Zelda did her own circular motions, teetering on the edge of the cones, the tip of her white skates nudging them just a bit. A balance exercise. From there, she went outward, staying within the same circular motions.
It was silent besides the two sounds of the skates on the rink, one smooth and one more jagged in the air. There was an occasional slam of the puck against the wall, which Zelda got used to. But unlike the hockey games she had seen once or twice up close, there was no yelling.
It wasn’t exactly…peaceful—she was used to no noise in her early practices—but it was nice. Especially as the sun came out to rest on the two of them, she flipped into an axel, landing with her toes pointed out as she leaned back to catch herself.
Link was staring directly at her, his puck lingering against the wall. When was the last time that she had heard it slam against it? Zelda made eye contact against the rink, and the ice blue eyes seemed to pin her down from behind the helmet, her heart climbing into her throat.
A call shattered the silence. But she pulled herself into a smooth motion, landing at her phone just as it stopped. Then she pressed on the green as it lit up again.
”Hey Impa.” Zelda said, a small smile coming to her lips
“Are you still at the rink?”
“Yeah, it’s just me and….” She looked up to see Link’s body facing hers, clearly paying attention. He seemed to be coming closer, but not enough to startle her. “It's just me and another person and me.”
“Well, you should start to head back; it’s starting to snow.”
“Is it?” she gasped, and looked up, as if she could see it beyond the rays of dawn that streamed through the windows, a glassy light that tilted different tints throughout the dawn. But the dawn light did seem a bit more muted. “I didn’t realize it.”
Link was approaching them now, taking off his helmet and furrowing his eyes.
”Yeah, it’s coming down thick and fast. I don't know about the buses, so you might want to get on one soon.”
”Did class get canceled?”
”Yeah, probably, if it’s this thick at 6:30 am.”
Zelda looked back at Link, who was furiously typing into his own phone now. She slipped off her skates and wandered out to the window in the lobby. Where white sheets were falling down around her, making her gasp. Billowing white sheets slammed against the lobby glass, leaving her in a muted white light. The first snow of the season… It was beautiful with the slightly opaque windows coming through.
Link looked up as she entered back, apparently waiting for her own verdict. “Thanks for telling me, Impa.”
“You’re welcome.” Her friend sang, then hung up.
Zelda tidied up her backpack, taking off her ice skates to hang at the edge of her backpack. Link tapped the stairs in between them to get her attention, and he signed:
The hockey team called off practice.
“Oh,” Zelda blinked and said quite eloquently as they headed into the lobby together. “That’s smart.”
Revali has to take the bus. He said, as if that explained anything. As if the entire hockey team revolved around Revali—which, granted, the Rito probably thought of. He didn’t get into the school’s magazine, however.
“I’ll have to take that too,” Zelda admitted.
Link’s eyes went wide, then it got canceled.
“What?” Her voice came more panicked than she realized, then she cleared her throat. “Thanks for telling me that—I can get a ride.”
Her mind started flicking through her contacts like a Rolodex. Who would be able to—and willing to—pick her up at this time in the morning? And who did she trust to drive in this type of weather? The snow drifted in front of her, white pinpoints falling like the drifts of anxiety that seemed to build up in her mind.
As she looked outside the sportsplex, fully resigned to her fate of walking home, she saw a nervous Link approach her. Nervous? The silent prince of the ice hockey team wasn’t his entire point to be brave and charming?
Do you want a ride?
Zelda opened up her mouth, ready to protest. If it would inconvenience him, if it would be safe in this environment, how good was he at driving? Her father—even though he wasn’t here, his ever-looming presence shifted over her. It’s like she was sixteen again, her father dismissing any thoughts or boys—not that dating girls would be any better, her brief stunt of dating Impa showed that perfectly—let alone getting in a car with them.
But she wasn’t there anymore, wasn’t she? She was here instead, with this nervous boy who gave her a small smile—tawny hair sticking up from his removed helmet now. As if the helmet was his shield, and he was offering her his raw self.
“What do you want in return?” Zelda said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She couldn’t be too free; she had to be careful. Everything came with a price, her father’s voice reminding her of that.
But Impa’s scoff rang through her, which, twinned with Link’s frown, gave her the answer that she should have realized in the first place.
Nothing. He signed with one hand, a shy smile peaking from his mouth. Just an offer, from captain to captain.
“You think that this will get you more time on the rink?” she said, meaning it as a tease.
But at his frown, she quickly added, “I mean, yes—I would appreciate it. Thank you for the offer, that’s kind of you.”
Link tousled with his hair for a moment, gesturing back to the rink. Let’s go collect our stuff.
“I do wonder if this place will be closed down in the future because of this,” Zelda wondered aloud. “It won’t matter that much.”
I won’t be able to have company on these cold mornings then. Link said, and Zelda recognized his banter, even with the slight shift of his face. They emerged back into the light of the rink.
“After the season is over, you won’t have to see me anymore,” Zelda said, putting on her thicker hoodie. She curled up the strings to her neck, smiling at him—but perhaps it was a bit too self-deprecating because he frowned.
Have you not come here before or after the seasons have ended?
“Sometimes for free skates.” Zelda giggled a bit as they headed back out, the doors slamming shut behind her. She wrangled her keys out and locked the door. Should she contact the supervisor of the place to tell her that there wouldn’t be any? That would be a quick email to send, and she wasn’t sure if Impa would send that off; she had probably fallen asleep again.
There to show off? He said, with a completely serious face.
“Actually, no,” she said primly, red coming over her face. “I would never.”
You seem to be this morning, Link said. He laid one of his hands flat out and mimed one spinning on it, twisting his hands. It was lanky and uncoordinated, but she got his drift.
“I do it to help out the kids.” Zelda put her hands on her hips, stopping in her tracks. “I take time outside of my week to volunteer here for it.”
Link also paused. I didn’t mean to offend.
She huffed, but the red still caught on her fingers. She didn’t take it that way, did she? She had gotten worse flak from the other girls in the locker room when she was in middle school. But why was she red? Was it because he implied that she showed off?
“I didn’t take it that way,” Zelda huffed and went ahead to push open the bigger doors. Link followed and immediately started to dig into his backpack.
As she locked it up, she saw him frown at the empty backpack, one of the pockets open in the way. Snow was landing on his black backpack now, coating his tawny hair in flakes of white.
“What’s wrong?” Zelda said as she tucked her coat over her. Her breath frosted in the air, and Link shoved his fingers into his pockets.
“I don’t have my gloves with me.” Link’s voice was scratchy, as if from disuse. It was hoarse, and Zelda was acutely aware that this was the first time she had heard him talk. “It’s a walk to the car. And I can’t.”
He flexed his fingers in his pockets, and Zelda figured it out.
“You can’t sign if it’s cold.”
Link nodded. Was it just the cold that seemed to make red bloom across his higher cheeks? “Yeah, it’s,” he cleared his throat. “Not fun.”
“Alright,” Zelda mused, “You don’t have to talk.”
Link gave her a look, as if testing her.
“I mean it!” Zelda said, holding up her own hands. He was right, it was cold out, and she had to put her own fingers in her thick winter coat. “Just lead me to your car.”
She didn’t say, you don’t have to talk around me if you don’t want to, or say you seem uncomfortable when you talk, or I enjoy seeing you silent. Because who knows how those could come off. Zelda was never a pro at social interactions, and it didn’t seem like Link was the best at it either, from his hesitant face. Something in her fluttering heart made him want to be comfortable, seeing the smile that she had barely seen in the visor so far on the boy’s face.
“You don’t like speaking.” Zelda said, “It’s that simple.”
Zelda took the lead, going with confidence to the right, and she heard a crackle of a laugh behind her. It had broken the boy from his slight scowl, his cheeks flushing bright in the cheeks. He nodded the other way.
“Oh, well.” Zelda held her head up, her own cheeks blushing just a bit. Embarrassment bit at her just a bit, but his laughter rang bright in her own ears. “Lead on, Link Wild.”
Link let out a small scoff, a huff of breath that hid his face just a bit. He started heading in the other direction, leading with more efficiency after his hesitancy. He seemed to be at more ease with this, as if this was his natural setting.
Their boots crunched into the snow, the only dapple of the sound in the silently falling snow. They crossed to the main street, the sidewalk only visible within the small dip in the snow layer that had thinned it over. Link’s hair was quickly covered with snow, white speckles catching with the white pinpoints in his ears.
“You have earrings,” Zelda said, to break the silence. Not that he could do that at all. He raised his eyebrows at her, as if saying, Yeah, and?
“They’re pretty.” Zelda blurted out, and he smiled at her—a real one that seemed to dimple in his face.
“Thank you.” His voice came out, short and sweet.
He took out his keys and went over to a small gray car. He opened the door for her to enter, and she crumpled into it, pushing her bag into the backseat, landing with a thump on cans that she winced at. Link slid into the driver’s seat next to her.
“What was that?” she squeaked out.
“Energy drinks.” Link said, startling her with his voice for the second time. When he dumped his own bag into the back, throwing it deeper into it, to one of the back seats, which was moderately clearer. He switched to sign as he slammed his door, whisking out his hands, stretching them, then. I drink too much.
“That can’t be good for you.”
What do you drink then?
She straightened herself up, “Tea.”
He let out a snort, alright, princess.
“Hey!” she protested, but it didn’t have much heat behind it. “It’s the perfect start before ice skating in the morning! Drinking it as the sunrise comes to life is perfect! It’s more nutritious as well, and if you let it steep for about two minutes, it’s more energizing. And Terrako likes it as well, and—”
Link held up a hand, and she slumped back down when she realized she had been talking too much.
Terrako? He spelled each letter out, unsure of the spelling.
“Yeah, he likes it.” She held her head up, daring him to challenge that one notion.
A…. Link bit his lip, boyfriend?
“No!” Zelda exclaimed, digging to get her phone out. She flicked to her pictures, where last night Terrako was climbing into her otherwise empty teacup. “It’s him.”
Link looked between her and the phone for a puzzled second. A robot?
“Yeah,” she said defensively. “He can try the different tea flavors.”
He wrinkled his nose at that.
“I’ve programmed him to do it!” Zelda popped up, flicking to another app and showing her coding. “When he dips a leg into it, it tells me the exact heat on how hot it is. I can also set a timer on him, so I know exactly how long it takes to steep. I’ve done tests with it over the years. It takes jasmine tea about two minutes to do it, but London Fogs took longer; you have to put the syrup in at the exact…sorry.”
She winced at his silence. The pressing silence seemed to force her to slump down into the seat and twiddle with her hair.
It took him a few seconds to form a sentence. She expected the worst, but the graceful smile—oh Hylia, he had dimples—that peaked at her, “That’s really cool. You made it yourself?”
“Yeah. I might be able to be an engineering minor soon.”
He let out a smile, and frowned when she brought up her own address on the map.
“Sorry for taking up your time,” Zelda said, aware of the snow that was now piling up at the car, making it feel smaller than it was. “It’s just—”
“No.” Link said, then—yep, that was definitely red on his face now, nothing to do with the cold. I enjoy talking with you.
It came out like a shy confession, and Zelda realized it was that. Over the different days, she had always wondered about this boy, in the helmet that limited his vision and her actual view of him. It had cracked open on this little day. She could see—and wanted to trace—the freckles that had emerged on his reddening face in this small space with her.
“Why don’t we stop by my dorm then—” then what, Zelda, then what? “—then I can show you him. My roommate is in, so we can go to the campus coffee shop, right?”
The dimples flashed again, freckles emerging like a constellation sailing across the skin. It made her own smile flash, even though she knew she didn’t have dimples. I can pay.
A whole year later, she gained her own nickname. When Zelda skated on the ice, in the same blue that Link wore around his neck as his distinctive accessory to distinguish him, she got her own nickname. Props to specifically Revali, who started it as a jab—but resolved into a nickname that accompanied his small smiles to her.
The Silent Princess, skating on the ice in axles and her shorter hair, the braids that her silent prince had done that very morning.