V. She's a Legend

It was kind of like that time Ganondorf's minions – or was it that other time, with the wizard? – threw her in the castle dungeon. At least compared to the airy pinkness of the Delta house, the guys' wing of Delaney Hall was a lot like the castle dungeon – dank, clammy stone walls, dust particles floating in whatever light they could find, and a vague smell of something unwashed. Probably socks. Hopefully just socks.

Although the dorm was louder than the dungeon, generally. "No running with swords!" shouted Jay, the RA, as a figure in a green T-shirt barrelled past him, wielding the Master Sword, in a laughing, clanging fake duel with Ben and a piece of pipe. They both stopped dead in front of the girl in purple.

"Uh," said Link, blushing. "I didn't mean…"

"He's just teaching me broadsword fighting," Ben said, taking in Zelda's irritated yet still crystal-blue eyes, and the wisps of hair framing her delicate face. His ears turned bright red. "Yeah. With his sword. And I'm gonna teach him the guitar." The ears couldn't get much redder, but they were trying. Should he bow? Link wasn't bowing. "I'm Ben. You must be the Princess Zelda."

"The legend in person," quipped Zelda. "Link, you have GOT to watch it. Beheading your roommate wouldn't be a good way to start off your freshman year."

"I'm…."

"He's really careful," Ben said.

Zelda ignored Ben. Two weeks in a sorority house had already taught her the finer points of ignoring boys. "Link, can I hang one of these on your door? I'm supposed to just be hanging them up in the girls' wing, but I think it would be great if you and some of the guys could come to the party, too."

She handed him a piece of orange paper. Years of Hylian calligraphy instruction in the royal drawing room had done their work; the words "Alpha Beta Gamma Pajamarama!" were illuminated with traditional Hylian patterns, as well as intricately drawn figures of animals – squirrels, bears, monkeys, unicorns. All of them wearing footie pajamas. A bear had a beer.

She'd dotted the "j" in "Pajamarama" with a little heart, Link noted. He looked up at her. Their eyes met. He nodded.

"GREAT! I can't wait to see you there! Friday, remember! Byeeee!" Zelda chirped, and made for the door and the fresh air of the outside world.

Link went into his and Ben's room and dug around among the scattered video-game cases, magical weapons, and empty pizza boxes until he found the scotch tape. He hung the sign up just above the dry-erase board, then elbowed his roommate, who was still staring at the door from which Zelda had left.

"Wow," Ben murmured. "You never SAID."

Link stared.

"Well, okay. You never say anything. But you SHOULD have said. She's… For once, my friend, I am the one at a loss for words."

"Try," Link said, shortly.

"'Perfect' is pretty close," Ben said. He sighed. "And you're absolutely certain you're not…."

Everyone asked him that. "We're not."

Ben sighed again. "Good."

Link nodded. Good for Ben. Good for Zelda – that is, if she decided to notice Ben's existence at some point. She and Link definitely had a bond, a sort of unspoken understanding, but it was a bond of Fate – she as the Princess, he as her Hero, destined only to protect her. Meaning Link wanted only the best for his royal friend. Really. And Ben was such a good guy. They'd be great together. Yeah. They would. Yeah.

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Steve Carmody was on his way back from Dean Ganondorf's office after another session of dastardly plotting (couldn't the guy just stop saying "clutches"? That word is just freaky, he thought) when a stunning blonde in a purple sweater smiled at him, handed him a piece of orange paper and continued on down to the quad.

His heart was lost as he watched the vision walk away.

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3 a.m. on a school night, when every good freshman should be snoring loudly, but Link was up. Slowly, stealthily, he moved toward the mini-fridge. Eased it open, glad there was no light to wake up his roommate.

There was a full 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew on the top shelf. Ben's lifeblood. He couldn't get out of bed without it, couldn't get to class without it, and probably couldn't even form a coherent sentence without it. Link didn't touch the stuff. Until he remembered his roommate's ears turning red –

As he finished off the last swig, Link felt deeply satisfied.