A Moment
By SP

Any advancement has to come from something. It has to improve something that already exists. It builds from its foundations, and the old technology is discarded. We forget that it even existed, and we begin our reliance on the new thing. Nevertheless, everything has to have a constant. Something that stays the same. A tangible object that keeps a person's hopes grounded. It's something that reminds what our society is, where we're from, and how far we've come. Every culture has to have one. The Kokiri have their last, dying Deku tree, and the Zoras have their majesty waterfalls and rivers. Most Hylians identify Hyrule Castle as their cultural landmark. But how many of them have actually been inside, or that its hallowed halls are the same as there were centuries ago? Castle Town has changed so much in so many years; it could be unrecognizable to our ancestors. If our own little city has changed so much, who is to say that Hyrule Castle hasn't also changed?

In the Western corner of the city, a building is tucked away from the buzzing metropolis. Its architecture seems ancient, yet simplistic when compared to the newer skyscrapers. It is not as grandiose or as ostentatious as some government buildings, but its simplicity speaks something in itself. It is eerily quiet on this side of town. Smoke and cigarette buts are almost nonexistent. Residents don't know the definition of a traffic jam. It's almost like the gods themselves calm this place by their own hand. Maybe they do.

Up the steep steps, past the marble columns and heraldic statues, and through heavy oaken doors, there is a building that straddles the line between myth and accurate history. Everything here is a part of history, but the stories are just so magical and fantastic that they couldn't possibly be true. At the time, it does not glorify its heroes and past. It plainly spells out the greed and hatred that has always been within the hearts of Hylians. Its doors are always open to rekindling childlike fascination, as it has in years past. It has never changed. An rigid, remote bastion.

"Shit, that's too corny." Black ink haphazardly clouds out the words on a notebook. I put the pen to another page, but I don't write. I remind myself to say another prayer to the Goddesses for swearing.

A combined sound of voices interrupt me reverie, and it grows louder by the second. My eyebrows draw together in distaste – a large crowd is walking towards my general direction, distracting me. Tourists in the Museum aren't unusual. If I wanted complete solitarily, I could have left.

I sigh and look up, trying hard not to judge the crowd. It's hard not to. Most are wearing bright-colored shirts and sneakers, as if they were out and about for the whole day. Children obnoxiously shriek and laugh, while some on leashes try to worm out of the harnesses to join in the fun. Their parents snap bright photographs, letting the kids tear about the exhibit. They make no move to control their offspring, and it turns into a zoom. An overweight man turns behind him and spots me, huddled in a bench with my shoes on the floor and book bag in disarray. He sneers at me, like I had no right to be "interrupting" his tour. A bespectacled man pushes his way through the mob, holding a clipboard and pointing out some objects while loudly talking. Only a few turn and listen.

"Now, there is much debate over what the Princess of Destiny caused when she sent the Hero of Time back seven years, after the defeat of Ganondorf. One theory claims that two coexisting time period were created by this action."

I give up taking notes on the Lens of Truth next to me. This might be interesting.

A woman in a floral shirt and sunglasses speaks up. "So there could be another universe, happenin' right here, right now?" Her southern drawl makes her voice sound like a cheese grater.

"Precisely. At the same time, we can not prove that a second universe is present right now, so this is mostly circumstantial." The man straightens his tie and flattens his oily hair to his scalp while he speaks. He fumbles with his clipboard and almost drops it, and looks up beet-red. No one notices.

"Sir?" The same woman captures his attention again. "What's this sword that we keep seein' in the mus'um? You haven't mentioned it." My jaw drops. How does she not know all the legends, or the stories?

"I was about to get to that, ma'am. That sword, the Master Sword, dates all the way back to the adventures of the Hero of Time. It was created by the sages to repel evil – namely, Ganondorf. It could be only used by the true Hero, and it was sealed in the Temple of Time, awaiting him. You can see it for yourself nowadays. Even the altar describing the "legendary" blade dates to before the Hero of Time."

I stand up, abandoning my things on the bench at the end of his statement. It is so blatantly incorrect, that I can't help myself. I thrust a foot in one heel, and then I hop around trying to get the other on. I'm glad that the tour guide is talking loudly. No one sees me flail about like a crippled bird.

I feel like it is my duty to educate the ignorant crowd, as the tour guide is failing at it. I tiptoe to the edge of the group, not alerting them of my presence. Most are still paying attention to the little man. Up close, I could see for myself what a joke this "guide" was. His pants were held up by a thick belt, while his argyle socks peeked out from ratty leather loafers. Unfortunately for him, his purple-and-orange tie matched the socks. His tie was so tight that he should be choking, and he kept pushing up his glasses. His ginger hair was combed over and strictly parted like his mother did it. I felt a pang of pity for him – he was a boy that was trying to do a man's job. Well, it is not specifically a man's job. It doesn't take much brainpower to know your country's history. But he should know the basics if we wanted to work here.

"Sir?" I raise up my voice. I pointedly stare straight ahead, ignoring the judging glowers of the crowd. The man has to crane his neck to see me. "You mentioned that something on the pedestal of Time dates back to before the Hero of Time, right?"

"I think I was pretty obvious when I said it." His smile doesn't meet his eyes, as if he was talking to a small, stupid child.

"Well, how could the sword be legendary if the adventures of the Hero of Time haven't even occurred yet?" The implication is clear to me, but many others take a few moments to understand this. Then recognition dawns on their faces, accompanied by gasps and murmurs.

"Miss, the Master Sword is legendary because the Sages forged it." The crowd slightly parts so we could clearly see each other. "It is mostly known for aiding the Hero. Most people know that if they paid attention during primary school." He smirks, acting, like he just dealt the finishing blow.

I'm still not done.

"It can't be legendary if it hasn't done anything significant yet. The Master Sword has been used before the Hero of Time!"

The man looks at me with wide eyes. "What is your name, miss?"

I was slightly taken aback. "Does it matter?"

"Well, does your question matter? I'd love to stay and chat so I can easily shut down your theory. But as you can see, I have more important things to take care of…" He gestures to the people around him, and they half-heartedly acknowledge him in response. The majority of them are probably still mad at me for interrupting their overpriced tour.

I shrug. "I just had a question, since I have a paper to do and I wanted to-"

"Take up your little idea with your professor then. If you want to rewrite our nation's long-standing and accepted history, do it on your own time." He motions to the throng to follow behind him as he walks away. "Some people actually want to learn here."

Many people take a while to stand up, prying their fat rear ends from benches and the floor, causing a commotion.

"I thought you were supposed to help people!" I yell at his retreating back. I conjure a number of choice words I could hurl at him, but I don't. It would just make things worse. I stand there until everyone slowly lumbers away. Some look at me with contempt, or even anger. In those few minutes, I am ignored. Alone. Just a silly girl, who asks unanswered questions and keeps wondering about them.

I trudge back to my bench and sit down in a most unladylike fashion. I robotically pick up my pen and notebook, but I can't put ink on the page. Usually I can make words flow out of me like a river. After this encounter, I feel that the river has dried up inside me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a figure entering the exhibit. I ignore him or her and fall back into my thoughts. I look at a display depicting a mobile bomb to distract me, even though it's not related to my research. That's probably not its actual name. I'm past caring. I need to leave and get some work done before my classes tomorrow, instead of bumming around in a aging museum. I try to motivate myself to get up when that same figure sits next to me. Not right next to me, as that would be terribly awkward. The person is a comfortable distance away, yet close enough that we have to make small talk.

There's probably five other benches in the exhibit. Why didn't you choose one of those, mister?

I lean against the bench arm nonchalantly. I need to just get a glance of this intruder, and then I'm getting out of here. I rub the back of my neck as I slightly turn.

For the love of Nayru…

I'll be honest. I was not expecting this. I was thinking that a senile, old man or a naïve young girl thought that I wouldn't mind their company.

One of the Museum security guards is next to me instead. He wasn't one of the ex-cop, balding, pudgy ones either. He unfolds today's paper above his dark washed jeans and boots, while the patches and badges on his uniform rise and fall with his breathing. His eyes flick between me and his paper. I hastily open up my notebook and act like I'm in deep thoughts, or at least doing something productive. It's hard not to stare at this very attractive man. He smiles at my misfortune, but tries to hide it.

He isn't getting any reading done if he's paying so much attention to me.

I bite my lip as I try to catch his blue eyes. They're hidden under his floppy blonde hair. My eyes fly back to my notebook if he glances over. Nothing is written on the notebook. He has not turned a page.

This continues for a few minutes. I feel trapped in this never-ending, awkward situation. The man folds up his paper in half, and then in half again. He opens his mouth as if he had something important to say, then closes it.

He leans over to me. "Sorry about Shad back there." He motions in front of us.

"Excuse me?"

"You know. The tour guide that you were about to murder with an artifact or something."

I was slightly put off. "I wasn't necessarily going to run him through."

"You looked like it." The man cheekily smiles at me.

"We were having an intellectual debate."

"But Shad's kinda a…" He taps his boot on the floor, in time to a melody. It's familiar, put I can't put my finger on it.

"A what?" I press him. He drops his paper to the floor.

"An asshole. Sort of" he finishes. I'm shocked at his rudeness. My expression must show it, as his face falls. "That was the wrong thing to say. Sorry. Shit. Sorry again." The man runs his hand through his hair. "I'm just gonna head out…: He starts to stand up bright red. I can't help to admire his taunt biceps, pushing him up off the bench. Shit. Focus.

"No!" I blurt out. Puzzled, he turns back to me. I have to crane my neck to make eye contact because of the height difference.

"What?" A playful smile lights up his face.

"I mean, don't go." I pat the bench to reaffirm my point. "Stay."

"You want me to stay?"

"Unless you have something better to do." It was my turn to smile.

"I might as well." He sits down. He seems at a lost for what to say.

"So you were spying to me earlier?" I start off.

"I wasn't really spying, you see. My patrol runs through this exhibit, so I couldn't avoid seeing that." He sputters out.

"I see. I was just minding my own business when he struts in, yakking at the top of his voice."

"He's a bit of a show-off for the tourists. He thinks he knows everything."

I giggle. "He probably doesn't. No one will know everything."

"Exactly! He was furious when you called him out on the Master Sword. He thinks he's superior to a lot of us who work here."

"How come?" I don't notice myself scooting closer to him.

He shrugs. "He's just like that. You can't change people."

I do not really know how to respond to that. I stay silent. I look down at the white, blank pages while the man looks at everything but me.

"Shouldn't you be at your job? I ask out of the blue.

"I'm on duty. I'm not shirking my responsibilities." He smirks.

"You're acting like it."

"I'm on break."

"I find that hard to believe, Mr…" I mean to mockingly formally address him, but

then I realize I don't know it. I lean to see if he has a name on his uniform.

"It's Link." He supplies for me. "Link Forester, at your service." He mock salutes me. What an unusual name.

"You can do me a favor by actually doing your job" I retort.

"There's not much of a job to be done. The Museum barely has any visitors, except for regulars like you."

This piques my interest. "So you're saying that you've seen me before?" I slyly inquire.

Link grows red. "Once or twice."

"But you have seen me."

He sighs in defeat. "Yeah. I've been meaning to talk to you for ages, but there was never a good time."

"What do you mean?" I start to fiddle with my pen. We're venturing into uncharted territory, where I could say one thing a blow it.

"I see you maybe once or twice a week, or several times a day. You take notes on the weirdest crap there is – "

"It's not crap!" I interrupt. "Some artifacts in the Museum had value in their own time period, while they may be obsolete now. Others haven't even had their purpose discovered!" Hundreds of phrases dance in my head, about what I should or should not say in front of Link. However, the only thought that I can focus on is if this stranger has the ability to deal with me. He hasn't walked away yet, which must be a good sign.

Link smiles. I can't tell whether it is out of pity or humor.

"Let me finish. You focus all your time and energy on what's in the Museum. At the same time, you can't see everything that's happening around you. It passes right by you. I haven't been able to walk up to you because I thought you would ignore in favor of a diorama or artifact or something." I give a half-hearted smile. Knowing me, I definitely would've done that.

"I don't have the time to pay attention." I mumble.

"Of course you do. There's 24 hours in the day. Live a little." Link reaches over and brushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I don't want to sound a like a heroine in a cheap romance novella, but butterflies rise up in my stomach. His hands are calloused, more than I expected from a security guard.

The butterflies are quickly killed by a stomach acid called reality. "Not until I finish my research paper. Which reminds me…" I drag my book bag from under the bench and start putting my things together. "I need to head out."

"Wait wait wait," Link's tone turns urgent. He grabs my elbow, not forcibly, but pleading. "What's your report about?"

I'm surprised. Most people just say "oh" and feel sorry for me. I didn't expect him to care. I guess that's what I get for judging.

"A history of the Sheikah tribe. The Museum is one of the last legitimate places to get primary sources from them." I feel myself dropping my bad back onto the bench, and Link slides over until he's in front of me.

"I can help you with it!" His face brightens up like a school boy who just got a lollipop.

I laugh at him in spite of myself. "You? Help me? That could be disastrous."

Link rubs the back of his neck and looks away. "Hey, I know a lot of stuff. I don't work in a museum for nothing."

"You actually like history?"

"I need the cash, but the history is an additional factor." He insolently smiles. A small dimple appears on a stubbly cheek.

"I wasn't saying that your knowledge of Hylian history was inadequate, I just thought that – "

"That what?" Link prompts me, as if he's thinking the same thing that I am.

"It just isn't a good idea."

"Because I'm so devilishly handsome?" Link nervously laughs, and I join in. I don't want him to think that I do believe he is attractive. I have to leave before I do something horribly embarassing.

I throw my cardigan over my shoulder and pick up my bag. I slowly walk away, listening to my own heels rap against the marble floor.

I do this with every guy I meet. We have great conversation, we laugh and chat, and everything seems perfect. Things are going fantastic. Then I let go of him. The opportunity slides from my hands like sand.

I don't hate men. I don't want to end up alone. It's just so hard to hope, even for just a second, that I could be happy with someone when I've been unhappy for so long.

"Hey!" Boots pound after me, and soon that same man appears in front of me. Link blocks my way out. He stands so close to me that I can count the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks.
I see jagged scars criss-crossing his neck and diving under his collar.
He's definitely not a normal security guard.

"Can I at least know your name?"

"Why?"

"I've been putting off talking to you for long enough, and I'm not letting you go until I know you."

I grin. "Well, you know that I am a living, breathing human being, so technically you do know me."

Link glowers and folds his arms. It's like he's trying to be serious, and I am not falling for it. "Please. Just a name."

I sigh and throw my hands up in mock defeat. "If you say so." I pause for suspense. "It's Zelda. Zelda Harkinian."

Link gives me a strange look. "Are you serious?"

I almost trip over my words. He couldn't have figured me out so quickly. "What?"

"The Harkinian family is the last bloodline to the ancient Royal Family."

Oh no. I shrug off his statement. He still hasn't put two and two together. "It doesn't mean anything. It's a common name. It's not like I'd inherit the throne." I hope the sarcasm throws him off.

"We wouldn't want that, would we?" Link forces out a laugh.

"I think I would be decent at running a nation." Not that I've been training and studying to do it my entire life, I add silently.

"I would barely be able to see you. You'd be locked up in the Castle. That's no good."

I start breathing again, thanking the Goddesses that this man hasn't recognized me from the papers or the television.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Harkinian." Link sweeps a bow as he steps aside, letting me out of the exhibit.

I don't walk for long until I hear him once more. "Will you come by soon?" He hollers after me, making other patrons of the museum stare at us. I flash a smile back, betraying my wavering confidence that I can see him another time. I don't know when I can.

On the other hand, I do need to come to the Museum more frequently. I actually need to get some research done. My tutors might understand. The Castle library may have thousands of books, but it's not enough to learn everything.
I know I'll get distracted easily if I come back. Maybe that's why I'll return.

AN: Hola! Just another little one-shot for all you Zelinkers out there. Since I've never really written anything in a "modern" setting, I decided to do this. I hope you enjoyed it, and please review!
Thanks,
SP