Author's Note: Inspired by Carito-Fox's "Just One Dance." If you haven't read it, I strongly recommend it, as it's not only one of the best Ghirafi one-shots I've read, but almost crucially complementary to this.
The beginning of this takes place pre-Skyward Sword, immediately after the first time Hylia sealed Demise in the Sealed Grounds.
Chapter One
Fi opened her eyes, a faint chiming noise emitting from the Sword Spirit as she lay in the scorched field, a curtain of misty rain enveloping the remains of the battleground.
Her small blue form glowed dully, and with effort, she turned her head, her eyes glimmering as they found her shattered sword, ignoring for now the backdrop of the dead or dying bodies of her friends and allies.
She felt a deep dread seize her upon analyzing the state of her blade; the sword had shattered upon its successful piercing of the demon. The blade, though strengthened with one of the only two Sword Spirits in existence, had been unable to tolerate the evil it had penetrated during the battle. While the blow was enough to subdue the Demon King long enough for Hylia to seal him in the Grounds, the sword hadn't survived its assault against the darkness.
Pain wracked through Fi's spirit. She knew she was dying.
The battle had been brutal, and victory not without cost, as demonstrated by the fallen figures around the sprite-like figure. The Demon King, a relentless typhoon of hatred and violence on his own, had brought forth his murderous hordes, and together with that sword...
That sword. A pang rang through Fi's remaining consciousness and derailed her train of thought as she recalled her twin spirit, her counterpart. The closest to kin she had in existence. The memory of their last encounter swirled through her mind, which in her final stages, threatened to fade along with her consciousness. She remembered...
"So surprised, my darling little sister."
His voice teased more than taunted, and the female Sword Spirit repressed a powerful urge to slap that grin off those pale, aristocratic features.
Her anger raged, and she glowed a bright blue with the same swirl of passions she felt upon first learning of Ghirahim's defection from Hylia's army.
He had moved around her in a circle, taunting her with his silence, a graceful dance of diamonds and crimson. Her limbs clenched as she studied his movements.
Abruptly, the small blue spirit disappeared, then quickly reappeared in the demon's path, putting an abrupt halt to his prowling gait. He was thrown slightly off balance, as he had to step back slightly to avoid crashing into her. "May I remind you, we are not blood related," she said crisply.
No, she wouldn't play his game. Not at that moment.
Her expression stared into his, a sea of questions glimmering back at him, demanding an answer to the initial question she posed. Even without her verbal assault upon finding him in the forest glade, he would have known the purpose of her visit. And no...he hadn't imagined she would be ...exactly pleased...upon learning he had lent himself to this new enemy who called himself the Demon King.
The elegantly clad demon stood a foot in front of her, eyes scanning her body posturing, reading her.
His eyes studied hers, and his gleeful flamboyance slowly drained from him, replaced with a confused cocktail of sentiments sifting just beneath the surface. The years and experiences between the two hung thickly in the air dividing them.
A significant second passed. He made a gesture as if to reach out to her, but his hand froze even as his eyes narrowed.
"Our centuries of loyal service have been telling, Fiora... You're a fool to think you'll be anything but a weapon to the Goddess and her dogs," he spat out, using the spirit's full name, his gaze turning sour. The pale demon drew himself up to his full height, tossing his hair to the side and taking a step even closer to his smaller blue counterpart.
Fi held her ground and his gaze, her resolve steeled. She knew him very well, too well to be intimidated by his attempts to cause her discomfort. She could feel his breath, with a jolt to her system, washing over her, and could smell him, that distinct scent that brought back memories, memories...
The biting edge to his voice drew her out of her reverie. With her attention snapped back to the present, she realized the demon had turned 90 degrees so that his tall body practically encased hers, his lips just barely brushing her ear. "You and I have been greatly under-appreciated, little sister." Fi felt sick, disturbed at his use of his oh-so-inappropriate pet name for her in the face of his insinuating actions.
"You and I are the only creatures of our kind in existence..." he let his lithe hand graze down her arm.
"The pair of us unique, powerful, enviable tools that should be exalted in any army fortuitous enough to be graced with our presence."
Fi didn't move, and remained listening to his seductive words, her keen mind quickly assessing the situation, calculating the characteristics, whims, and moods of her companion throughout the years she had known him, and applying them to the treacherous words now being uttered by him.
"With Demise, I'll be more than just a simple tool, a mere pawn of the Goddess like so many who follow her." His eyes took on a near manic gleam, and the grip of his white glove tightened against her wrist. His tone, beginning in an excited, but relatively calm tone, became frenetic, and as he continued, Fi's sense of ill and dread only increased.
"Come with me, Fiora." His voice purred. He was behind her now, and she froze as she felt the familiar touch of his fingers on her shoulder, brushing her neck. "Come with me. Together, we'd make Demise unstoppable, and we'd share his reign in the dark new world he creates." He disappeared, and she felt more than heard the rain of diamonds in his wake.
He reappeared in front of her, pale hand extended towards her. "I'll be his Demon Lord, and you and I will be revered together in the ages to come!"
The manic tone in his voice frightened her, and Fi reacted, leaping into the air and floating back a few feet, the space between them seeming an ocean.
She shook her head, confusion and disbelief affecting her seemingly young features. "How.." her voice stuck in her throat. Gazing at him, the realization of the words he was saying, the imminence of the situation freed her vocal chords in a hiss. "How can you be capable of this?" Her pale blue gaze peered into his, staring past the Demon Lord and into the...counterpart, associate, companion, foil...he had been since they were both born of sword. "After all our years of service, how is it you stand there uttering this blasphemy against the Goddess?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, hand dropping slowly to his pale, diamond-traced hip.
"Demon Lord?" she gazed at him, her petite figure floating up and down slowly, and she took in the crimson cloak, the near-megalomaniac style and aura surrounding him.
Her voice came out crisp, clear, and matter of fact. "All of his actions up to this point indicate that he's simply going to use you!" Desperate urgency brought an edge to her voice. "He's going to destroy this world, and upon its termination, he will cast you aside!"
She floated closer toward him, in a rapid, elegant movement characteristic of the ballet-like dances for which she was famed. She raised an arm, the tremble in it betraying her state of mind. "He's a self-serving, tyrant incapable of mercy or empathy" she continued, words forceful with her disbelief. "And you can forget about your title, your narcissistic hopes for glory, or about whatever it is you think you stand to gain from -"
Her voice was cut off, for at that moment, she reacted to block the ruby-red daggers the demon had flung at her. She hardened her body, briefly changing into her sword form, and with a loud CLANG, the daggers ricocheted off her harmlessly, disappearing in puffs of purple smoke before they hit the ground.
She flashed blue, returning to her anthropomorphic figure.
The demon had his teeth clenched, setting his jaw. "You never did know when to halt that annoying little tongue of yours.." he hissed. His hand, extended threateningly towards her, she noticed, was shaking.
Fi floated back several feet, and she sensed his sudden anger slipping away, replaced by the near-apologetic calm which inevitably followed his sudden, passionate outbursts.
She gazed at him, at this man who she had shared so many memories with, her counterpart whose fate had seemed so inevitably intertwined with her own. She felt overwhelming sadness, feeling him slipping away into a descent of insanity and evil.
"Ghirahim..." she floated, her tone quiet and plaintive. "You're going somewhere I can't..."
She trailed off, hesitating.
"...Please."
The Demon Lord blinked, clenching a gloved hand. Throughout the wide spectrum of their experiences together, he had heard curses, taunting, and many other utterances from the spirit before him in the long ages they've known each other, but never before had he heard... She was now pleading with him, he realized. His nails broke skin, passionate crimson crescent moons staining his immaculate glove.
"Don't do this." Her voice was very quiet, and she still in midair.
Ghirahim watched Fi, the sad expression on her face. She felt a small, yet raw flicker of emotion emanate from him, just for a split second. Her glow brightened hopefully – then his glance hardened, and her heart fell.
"Hmph." He turned his back on her in an exquisite movement, and Fi felt, more than saw the familiar, seemingly self-confident smirk on his face. He gestured back towards her offhandedly, cocking his hip as he stepped forward with dramatic flair.
"You can do what you like, little sister." Fi felt a hopelessness settle, stemming from the knot in her throat.
"Go back to being the Goddess' little lap dog," he continued in that feigned, careless drawl of his.
He disappeared for an instant, reappearing, poised as always, at the top of a nearby tree branch, face toward the sun setting on the horizon. The white demon let out a sardonic laugh. "When Demise obliterates all that is left of her pathetic little alliance, maybe I'll find a place for you under the new regime." He turned his head back at her, his white locks falling over his eyes as his voice turned sickly honeysweet. "I figure it's the least I can do, given our...history...don't you think?"
He shot her a sadistic grin at her pained expression. With that, he flickered away in a reverse rainfall of diamonds.
A new wave of pain wracked through her spirit, and she turned to look at her body, the sword she inhabited lying, irreparably destroyed, next to the general that had wielded her. He lay dead, but her own spirit still glowed dimly.
A wave of panic began overtaking her. "No..." she thought frantically, clenching her eyes. Her life flashed before her: Hundreds of lifetimes' worth of happy and wondrous experiences, the zipping of water on her feet as she glided above lakes, the clang of metal as she was wielded through epic battles, exploring high forests and deep caverns, singing with the humans, and dancing, dancing so happily with one with features and a countenance so similar, and yet so polar to hers...
"Not yet..." she murmured.
Fi's vision began to darken, and she felt her consciousness fading. "Please.." she prayed. "Not yet. I'll do anything, I just need more time."
Her vision blackened, and the Sword Spirit's glow began to fade into a dark opaque color. Her eyelids began drooping, and the sounds of the forest, of the movement around her began quieting.
"Anything," she prayed.
A golden light pierced through the darkness.
Fi recognized Hylia's voice.
"Little sword spirit, unique in kind and character. You were fated to perish in this battle, instrumental in sealing away the spirit of evil. But your pleadings do not go unheard; Sword Spirit, think well upon your request. I can alter your destiny to allow you more time, but this will require the ultimate sacrifice."
The Sword Spirit blinked slowly. The ultimate sacrifice...? What could be worse than death?
She thought back to her fields, her oceans, the ring of metal against metal in battle... And of his smirk, the infuriating way in which he tossed his hair, and way they had been born to co-exist in a dichotomy of compliment and conflict.
"Yes..." she murmured with the last of her strength. "Anything. I just want more time.." her voice trailed off, and her thoughts finished the sentence. And to see him again.
The golden light intensified, driving away the corners of darkness.
"Very well, Sword Spirit." There was a blinding flash, and all at once, Fi felt her spirit lacerated, disconnected from her dead sword, from the physical entity to which she'd entered this world oh so long ago. She felt vertigo and lost all sense of her physical form.
"You will be part of a great destiny..." the Goddess said. Fi felt the sensation of falling through air, and at once, she saw a sword burst into existence, propelled through the golden light. As she fell, she saw the sword spinning slowly, majestically towards her.
"You will be bound to this sword, a blessed and holy blade, one that was forged to slay and drive away the bastions of evil . Listen well, Sword Spirit. While Demise has been sealed, there will be a time when the bonds restraining him will break... It is then that a hero, chosen by the Goddess, shall awaken. It will be your destiny to aid him in this task."
At the end of this sentence, the sensation of falling ever more quickly came over Fi, and this time, she felt herself propelled into the sword. Her spirit and the sword made contact, and Fi was overwhelmed with the sensation of bonding with the sword, her spirit reattaching itself and settling deep within the blessed blade.
Fi glowed, the dim blue blight illuminating the pedestal in which the sword rested.
"But your sacrifice is a great one. You will be unable to help the hero in your current state; I have re-created your body, and have bonded your spirit to this new sword. The knowledge you carry must be carefully tailored to the needs of the Chosen Hero, and as a result, your memory must be modified in accordance with the task you have been assigned."
Wait.. Fi thought... What...
"You will remember portions of this battle and its history, but vast elements of your life must be locked away, so that you may focus on the Hero's quest and be a fountain of knowledge for him."
Locked away... No! Fi panicked in the blade. This wasn't... It wasn't...
But even as the Goddess spoke, Fi could feel her life slipping away from her, memories of her adventures, of her battles slowly being made unavailable to her, locked behind the Goddess' magic.
"When it is time for the chosen hero to awaken, Sword Spirit, your new destiny will come to fruition. When that occurs, your memories will awake when time and circumstances are appropriate."
Her vision dimmed again, and the images of the stone temple in which she was encased slipped away. Dizzy with ever increasing emptiness, she saw his eyes again, his smirk one last time. No... She held onto this last image with all her might, and as she fell into a deep slumber, her last thoughts were of their last dance in the desert, her pale partner leading her as she sang, their movements a graceful, complimentary dichotomy of silent grace and flamboyant elegance.
Ghirahim stood reeling for several seconds on the top of the stairs facing the entrance into the woods. He had been stalking the sky child for a while now, watching the little pest make his way deeper into the forest grounds.
His bokoblins had reported news that was...rather troubling, so of course he had interrupted his search to investigate. After some observation, he dismissed the boy as being threat, mentally noting to dispose of him at a convenient time (as well as relieve some of his stress on the interrupting bokoblin...)
But just as he extended a rather fabulous hand to snap back to his hunt for clues, it had happened.
The hilt of the boy's sword had burned a hauntingly familiar blue, one he hadn't seen since before his Master had been sealed away in the Grounds. He froze at the sight, the gesture of a snap still on his fingers. And as he watched in confusion, she...or something that resembled said she...flipped out from the blade.
Ghirahim gripped the column of the temple entrance, his entire system overtaken with adrenaline and shock. And then...
"Master..." he heard the sword spirit say. His heart skipped a beat, and confusion furrowed the demon's brows such an uncharacteristic address from the spirit.
"I sense the auras of monsters in the area. Please approach with caution."
He stared at this figure, this apparent ghost of his dead counterpart, an expression of shock on his regal features. But no... He had heard the shatter of her blade as she pierced his master in that last battle...had let out bloodcurdling shriek as he saw her form break...under the cover of darkness, he had crept covertly back into the battleground to find the pieces of her broken body laying in the burned remnants of the forest.
His reaction, upon realizing the little blue spirit was...well, that she was... Well, let's just say it was more than he could bear, and he had personally returned to the desert to bury the pieces, interring them on the plateau that had hosted their final dance.
So no... No, it couldn't be...and yet...
The figure resembled her so closely. But somehow lacked... Zest, was the most appropriate word. This spirit in the boy's sword resembled a shell of her, alike somewhat in voice and appearance, but even then, this robot-like figure seemed a far cry from the sarcastic, yet gleeful girl he had known.
The boy disappeared in the forest ahead, the sword carrying the spirit with him.
He watched him go. Then the Demon Lord snapped his fingers, disappearing in a wave of diamonds. He would keep a close eye on this sky child.