Fi floated into the room, doing her best to remain as quiet as possible lest she wakes the sleeping demon before her. Emi looked up upon her entry and smiled. The maid was sitting in a chair by the side of the bed. Fi fluttered over the bed to land beside Emi, who turned her attention back to Ghirahim's figure. She refreshed the damp cloth that had been placed across his brow.
"He's doing ok. About the same as last night. Thank the goddesses for that."
Fi nodded. His condition had improved, if only a little, since his wounds were tended too. He rode out hot and cold flashes with breaks of consciousness in-between moments of delirious raving. Fi took the night watch since she did not need sleep. The sword spirit did a quick analysis of his condition to confirm Emi's claims.
"Affirmative. You may go, Emi. I shall begin the next watch."
Emi rose from her seat with a deep stretch.
"He woke up for a little bit sometime this afternoon, but he didn't say much. Just muttered something incoherent before passing out again."
She added wearily. Fi found herself wondering what he had tried to say. He had usually cried out about what upset him, or he would bark an order as if commanding some underling from days past. The servant gave a wave before slipping out. Fi allowed herself a deep sigh; even though she had settled back into herself after a long period of meditation, she still felt crushed under the weight of her questions. Anytime she tried to inquire about his apparent memories or strange behavior, it sent him into a tail spine that ended in lots of incomprehensible yelling. However, muttering from the bed caused her frown to return. A black crystalline form shifted amongst the covers, and solid white eyes peered over the rim of the blanket folds. They seemed to widen, but only Fi would ever be able to perceive that.
"Mt'lae Philomena? Is that you?"
There was a thick accent to his voice that she had never heard before. It was smooth and...pleasing? Fi could not help but smile though she did not know why. Something tickled in the back of her mind. A whisper in the deepest recesses of her memory, but nothing else came with, no images, no songs, nor words.
"Negative."
"Oh...You look so like her, you know."
Ghirahim mumbled, his words slurring together both from exhaustion and whatever was in the teas the doctors had insisted he drank. Though despite this, his aura seemed clear. He patted the space beside him and twirled his hand in the air. These moments of strangely lucid delirium were interesting. He appeared conscious, but he acted like a completely different person than what Fi was used to. So she wondered if calling them lucid delirium was an oxymoron.
"Hmra, hmra, come come sit," He purred. "You must be tired. All that standing you do."
Fi opened her mouth to protest, but he tapped his fingertips together and finished with a flourishing gesture.
"I insist."
Fi sighed and conceded. The odds of him going through an obnoxious period of raving if she did not comply was 86%, and where was the harm in taking a seat? She fluttered up and landed at the foot of the bed. Sitting down, she tucked her legs under herself. Ghirahim beamed.
"That's better."
Fi found herself pondering in the silence that followed. Her mind always slaved away to quantify the next piece of information. Who was this Philomena? And how did she look like her? Well, add those to the mountain. Why not?
"You have questions." Ghirahim piped up. He flashed and clicked his fangs as if affirming it. Fi had never seen this gesture used in this context. Everything about him at this moment sent her mind into overdrive. Did the teeth clicking have cultural roots? What culture did Ghirahim even possess? Everything he did just piled on more and more. From the visions of two days ago now to this? None in her archives matched it. It could not be helped; she needed to ask to find answers. Fi decided after a long moment of thought it was best to play it safe with this one. After a ruffle of her shawl, she spoke.
"You clicked your teeth. This is typically seen as an aggressive action by most cultures across Hyrule--"
"Tssk! Ack!" He exclaimed with a toss of his head that sent the damp cloth tumbling onto the pillow. Fi sighed, willing her magic to lift the rag and place it back on his forehead. He pawed at it before seeming to remember what she had said.
"No! No, teeth clicking is...how you say...quizzical! I flash my fangs to urge you to continue. Hyrulian people are so soft and sensitive that they do not see playfulness behind it."
Fi cocked her head. A playful connotation? How could that be a whimsical cue?
"You say to urge me to continue; however, fangs could be used to wound or even kill someone. The odds of that being threatening to the average person is 95%."
"Ha! While it is true that I could kill someone with my teeth, I can not when my mouth is closed. Hence the understanding that clicking your teeth is a prodding gesture. If bloodshed were my goal, my foe would know."
His mouth twitched into a smirk before settling back down to a soft smile. Fi nodded; she supposed it made sense when she thought about it from that angle. Actual aggression comes from an opened mouth, but a closed one shows that these clenched jaws are holding back out of respect for you, but that does not mean you are safe from a bit of teasing.
She hummed as her mind rolled and played with this new information.
"Are you a new priestess then?"
Fi gaped. Why would he think that? She studied him, scrutinizing every detail. He just sat there, waiting expectantly for her to answer.
"You must be. Same with that other young girl. A pair of birds you be."
He trilled, earning a look from the female sword spirit.
"Negative. I am the spirit that resides inside the master sword, as I have been since the beginning when I was forged. It is a similarity we share."
She stated, gesturing to herself and then to him before averting her eyes from him, but she felt the room's energy darken.
"Do you remember your forging?"
He questioned. Fi looked back at him. His metallic countenance somehow steeled further.
"Because I was someone before mine..."
He whispered, and his voice crackled like flames in a hearth, and Fi found herself leaning forward, straining to hear him. Ghirahim fell silent, and Fi pondered the question. Her earliest memory was waking up in a secluded garden and seeing the visage of Hylia. She smiled down upon her little creation. Fi could still hear what the goddess said.
"You are called Fi," Hylia spoke, leaning down to look her in the eye. "And I have an extraordinary task for you."
"The chances of that being true for myself are 0%. You may have been someone due to the wicked and impure magics that went if your forging for evil can not create something from nothing."
Ghirahim scoffed and...chuckled. Did he find that amusing? Fi clicked her teeth, and his laughter lightened.
"Perhaps the reason you can not remember is that the light burned away all that you were before."
He stated simply before slouching back against the pillows with a lofty sigh. Fi toyed with the notion, but she quickly dismissed it. How could that be true? Fi suddenly became aware of her hands from where they rested on her thighs, and she lifted them up to her sides again.
"I like little fires." He babbled, Fi watched the air about him dim, and his face looked flushed though no actual pink would ever rise to his features.
"My Philomena would...would never..let me light the candles...She would chide, chide, and chide me...Do you know her?..."
Ghirahim muttered, trailing off, and Fi dampened the cloth once more and reapplied it. She shifted closer to get a better look at his shoulder. A clawed hand fumbled up and snatched a handful of her shawl. Fi flinched, prepared to put him to sleep, but he simply tugged, plunked, and massaged the fabric between his fingers. The black has such contrast with the purple hues.
"It's beautiful...fitting for you, my songbird...I've missed you, you know. Every day and night..."
Fi frowned, but the words would not form. She could not find the heart to tell him that she was not who he thought she was. The pain was back in her chest, but this time it was worse than ever. He must have noticed her discomfort, for he brushed a hand against her cheek.
"What's wrong?"
The pain swelled, forcing a cough from the spirit. She regretted it, pushing it down with all the other feelings she had ever felt. But this, this was nothing like those. It chased her. Seemingly immune to any of her defenses. Why did it hurt? Why did she feel so awful when he spoke to her like that? Fi shook her head and jerked away.
"Nothing is wrong!" She yelled, her shawl snapping free from his grip as she stumbled off the bed, but her shawl was pulled loose as she cracked her knees against the floor. Fi whirled around; Ghirahim had ahold of her cloak. He was stunned; he seemed to have tried to catch her, to stop her fall. Fi looked down at her exposed arms and hugged them tightly. Fear surged to her limbs, and she shuddered against the unfamiliar draft. Fi wobbled to her feet and snatched her cloak back from the demon.
"Why did you do that!?" She demanded, "You don't know what you're doing or saying! You're sick and delirious, and my name is not Philomena! I am not her! Nor will I ever be!"
He cowered under her words, sinking further under the covers. It was as if she actually struck him. Fi shook as she clutched her shawl to her chest. She wanted--no--needed to regain her control.
"I know..." Ghirahim whimpered. "I'm sorry..."
Fi tossed her cloak over her head and returned it to its place on her shoulders; however, her arms were still accessible. Fi looked more sheepish than an actual sheep. She took a deep breath and felt her feet lift off the ground once more as her calm returned. Ghirahim had pulled the blankets over his nose, and she could see him shivering. The cloth had fallen over his eyes, but he seemed frozen in place. Fi sighed and floated back onto the bed. She lifted the washcloth from his face and set it aside.
"No...I am sorry...Emotions are a foreign expression to me. I am unschooled in how to process them properly. I should not have taken it out on you. You likely don't even understand with this nasty fever you possess."
His gaze lifted to her hands, and he noticed the gold rings across all her fingers.
"What...what are those?"
"The time for questions has been terminated," Fi's tone was soft despite the robotic nature of her words. "The chances of you needing rest is 100%."
The blue and purple sword spirit returned her hands and arms to their rightful place. Ghirahim seemed uncertain, and he remained thoughtful for some time.
"Will you stay?" He finally whispered. "You're light keeps the shadows at bay..."
Did it? Fi did possess a soft glow, but not enough alone to banish back the thickest of shadows. She decided that was not important at this moment. Fi nodded and settled back in her spot at the foot of the bed. She watched as Ghirahim wiggled around down under the quilt. He rolled over to his side and sighed.
"Thank you..."
He muttered before his aura dimmed into that suggestive of sleep. Fi sighed, thanking Her Grace for finally letting rest take the demon lord. She had too much to think about now, and it would no doubt own her mind for days to come. Emotions lingered and seeped into her equations.
Could it be that she, too, had a life before this one of servitude, or did he say that to get a rise out of her? Who was this Philomena, and did thinking of her and...him...bring this ache to her heart? What did it all mean? What culture did Ghirahim hail from anyway? She never thought about it until recently. The Demon Tribe had always been quite the mixture of monsters, beasts, and, well, demons, of course. There were stories and legends about where they came from, but Fi found herself unable to recall where they came from. Why that was, she did not know, but such knowledge must not have been deemed necessary by Hylia for her to know. Perhaps one day, that memory would awake once more.
Fi leaned against the far bedpost. Her gaze remained fixed on the slumbering man before her, and she mulled over what all he had said today. She had spent every available moment deciphering those visions and picking them apart for every little thing they could tell her, but her analysis always came up half-baked. Like she was always missing something. Would Ghirahim answer her questions even after the fever breaks and his body finds balance again? Fi was unsure, and only time would tell.