Disclaimer : I do not own The Legend of Zelda

Eternal Slumber

For many years Fi had been almost slumbering, guarding the greatest of evils within herself. She had expected to enter an endless oblivion like she should have.

But the spirit of the goddess's holy blade could not. It instead felt like she was still awakened in very slow motion, so slow that what seemed seconds to her were days, if not weeks, to the world outside the blade. She was just standing there, thinking.

And that was the problem. She could not stop thinking. Thinking about him. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he happy like he made her? Wounded? Dead?

She remembered how humans called such a thing. She was "worrying".

Yes, Fi was worrying about him.

But the spirit was also wondering why. She had never been made to worry about her master, only to assist him in his holy mission.

And she knew he had successfully returned to his own epoch, for she had felt him close by for a fraction of a moment some time after their original separation, along with the spirit maiden and the old woman, to whom presence she was so used to that she felt her departure more than her presence.

So why couldn't she get the sleep promised to her? Their mission was over and done with, Demise defeated, and yet she still lived, even after all those years.

Why did that Demon get rest and not her? Had she done something wrong?

And why was she feeling those things? It had never happened before!

As she was slowly analyzing those things, she felt something. She was being touched, manipulated. But it wasn't her master. She wasn't even being held like a sword would for combat. Her bearers were not evil though, or her holy power would have inflicted such a pure, searing and excruciating pain through their bodies that she would have been dropped.

She could detect magic being woven around her, and the Golden Power passing close by, then suddenly vanishing. She was cast back into a pedestal, a new one, in another place. No longer did air flow around her. The sword was in a closed space, alone again.

Such a long time had passed since he last drew her and raised her blade to the sky. When would such a moment come again? When would sleep finally be hers to take?

Wait… What was that? She recognized that aura! She'd never forget it. It was him! She filled with what she identified as joy at the thought he had come back for her at last! The Master Sword would rise again and strike evil down once more! She awoke fully and her handle glimmered brightly.

Finally, she would be happy again…

But something was wrong. Those hands were far too small… A child's hands. The muscles, too weak. A far cry from those of the strong and powerful body of her master.

And the aura, while strikingly similar, was not really the same. It did not bear the same "scars" that life applies to all auras under great emotions. It was lacking the marks left by the pain of witnessing Zelda so close and yet so far every time, the shame of his failure to protect her in the Earth Temple, the joy when the crystal shattered, the relief when he saw the spirit maiden again after Demise's final defeat.

The spirit maiden, Zelda, her creator… Hylia.

She once respected, even admired, the goddess. But no longer. Why was Fi given life if she was to be a mere tool to throw away after use?

Even worse, she stole her master from the sword. She could see back in those days they spent in glorious adventure his affection towards the deity's mortal incarnation. She was able to see through his eyes, and had witnessed his vision blur when that thick amber layer had separated green tunic from white robes. She had seen the care he showed when he had held Zelda tightly after she collapsed, the way he was slowly caressing her back and hair…

Was she becoming what humans call "jealous" too? She had really grown that soft over the years?

She would not let that happen! How could she allow mortals to change her in such a way? She was a weapon, not a metal hanger to be bent at will!

If it was her destiny to be a weapon of war, then so be it. She would remain stoic through the ages, and never allow herself to be molded again! She was emotionless, not like this weakling that called himself Ghirahim.

A mere seven years later, when a fully grown Hero of Time would wield the Master Sword, her spirit would have since fallen asleep at last, no longer thinking and worrying.