A/N: Obligatory author apology for the wait! I've been way outside my normal life routine lately so it's been a bit difficult to work on this as quickly as I hoped. I wanted to have this done for the ghiralink week hosted on tumblr back in the beginning of June, but I only just finally wheedled myself through this part. Ah well, it's always ghiralink week to me anyway. So, at long last, here is the next chapter!
If you draw my sword for me and are recognized as my master… I can take refuge inside, and you will repair it… using the red flame at the volcano summit.
Link immediately realized he had a problem when he tried to stand and could barely heft the sword. It was quite obviously not designed for a human to wield; Demise had towered at twice Link's height, and the sword was practically the size of the hero. His heart sunk slightly. Had he taken this on only to end up with having a wall decoration and a malevolent spirit lurking around him?
He returned to Skyloft to gather some materials, almost anxiously hurrying back to the temple where the blade waited; he found it unsettling to leave it alone like that, but he hadn't the means to carry it. He would use what he brought back to hopefully rectify that.
Best he could hope for as far as a sheath was wrapping it in sturdy cloth. The ferociously sharp tips threatened to rip through, but it would be protected enough. He used belts to wrap around two sides of it and another attached to those that he could slip over his torso, and when tested it seemed inclined to be able to stay on his back.
For all the heavy stress he was under, he still had the instincts to do what he needed to take care of himself. After he finished his task he sat on the steps, leaving the wrapped sword a-ways behind him, allowing himself to calm and start to decompress from the recent events. When the knots in his stomach began to unwind, he remembered the meal he had the sense to think to bring back with him, and ate in silent contemplation. While some dusk and the evening hours remained ahead, there wasn't enough light to think of traveling very far. Even if his bird got him there before dark, he would have to spend the night at the volcano, and that didn't appeal to him. Neither did leaving the blade alone, for whatever reason. A night at the Temple of Hylia it was, then.
Link paced the stone floor, wandering his thoughts. Everything felt like questions. Ghirahim had seemed so dismissive of their past history of sorts, like it didn't matter. If he had been flippant toward Link's feelings of him, that the hero would have understood, taking it as the demon's cold and malevolent attitude. But entirely dismissive? And cryptic on top of that, like jeering at something he knew Link didn't. And he wondered if he could really rely on that loyalty… he couldn't imagine Ghirahim ever referring to Link in the obsessively obedient way he had been with Demise. He rubbed his temples. What if this was some kind of trick just to get some sort of revenge, or... well, who knows what else the spirit could be thinking. The boy looked back to the blade, which felt like it was watching him think from across the room, and sighed. Some instinct told him that wasn't the case, but he wished he could place just how he knew that.
He didn't even want to yet begin to tackle the problem of telling any of his fellow Skyloftians... especially Zelda or Groose.
The long night had to pass eventually, Link finally finding sleep, wanting to get all the rest he could to be ready for whatever could be ahead. It was an oddly familiar feeling, forcing sleep even when worry jostled him awake. He had hoped he would never have to find sleep despite such stress again.
With the next day beginning came Link calling for his Loftwing with a piercing whistle. The great red bird came to the grass beside him, ruffling his feathers and examining Link with great, intelligent eyes. He made a soft hissing noise at the item Link had slung across his back, and Link rubbed the bird's beak to soothe him. The boy adjusted the strap and climbed up onto his faithful companion's back, and they took off toward Eldin.
It was a long flight to the top of the mountain, but not nearly as long or difficult as it would have been on foot or skydiving. They spiraled down into the courtyard of sorts, landing on the platform before the steps to the inner temple of the Fire Sanctuary. Link dismounted, patting the red bird on the neck. He was met with a lingering solemn gaze before the Loftwing took back to the skies, and he couldn't help but feel like that was a look that said I hope you know what you're doing.
Steeling himself, he approached the grand doors, and they swung open slowly with a protest from the hinges. He entered the inner chamber cautiously, and the doors slammed shut behind him. The room was quiet and still, untouched since last he had been here. Which, he realized with a slight startle, had been the second time he had battled Ghirahim. He paused hesitantly, glancing around the space, then tentatively continued through it. He passed a small bloodstain, and some scratches and indents pointed tips had etched on the floor, but looked away quickly.
He reached the second set of doors, pausing to take a breath before he entered the room housing Din's Flame.
The red fire glowed with an unnatural light, dancing it its pedestal the same as Link remembered. When he first came here, Fi had tempered the Goddess Whitesword with the power of the flame, filling it with light and finally transforming it into the Master Sword. Link carefully pulled the demon blade off his back and rested it on the floor while he slowly removed the wrappings that kept it contained. As he worked he realized he didn't know what exactly what was supposed to happen. How was this flame supposed to repair this sword? If this flame was a goddess power, could it really help a weapon of demons?
He finished unwrapping it and sat back on his heels, contemplating the black metal for a long moment. He reached out and put his hand on the hilt, and a sudden flash snapped his attention up, realizing the flame had jumped up in size as it had when it reacted to his presence last time. The sword began to pulse the orange-like hue that matched the color it took when it absorbed Ghirahim's presence, and Link slowly lifted it, presenting it to the flame. The color of the sword grew in intensity, and Link squinted to see, barely keeping the sword aloft with both hands, his gloves protecting the palm that had to hold onto the side.
The flames abruptly leapt toward the sword like attracted by some force from the metal, the spheres of red light bursting into flashes of diamond patterns as they made contact. The repeated impacts had Link almost driven to his knees as he struggled to hold the weapon aloft.
The sword held onto the flames once the onslaught had passed, and Link examined it tentatively. The color licking along the metal undulated into orange and deep crimson before finally assuming the endless black of the blade itself. The black flames were nothing short of eerie, and Link gripped the handle nervously. The light abruptly burst again, making Link flinch, and when he peeked again he could see the light appeared to have shattered into small fragments hovering around the sword he held, slowly disappearing. Link realized the sword was now much lighter, and his eyes filled with awe.
What the tempering had left was the blade now much better suited to the size of the human who wielded it.
The surface was once again flawless, without a single scratch or chip or spot of dullness. It shone with a mirror-like quality despite the deep obsidian surface. The swordsman hefted the renewed weapon, feeling the new weight, the perfect grip his hand had on the handle. It was every bit suited to his hand as the Master Sword had ever been. There was something else though, something that made him uneasy to grasp it, made that perfect control he wielded with his blade not feel quite right.
Link gingerly laid the sword back in the cloth to recreate the makeshift sheath, going still when it was done, his hands resting on the covered blade to support him slightly as he closed his eyes and breathed. It was done. He'd repaired Ghirahim's blade. So what was he supposed to do now?
He opened his eyes and stared at the hilt that still showed, then on an impulse put his hand on it. Ghirahim hadn't appeared yet… had this been enough to heal him? He felt a faint energy touch his palm where he'd placed his hand, and he frowned, trying to concentrate on it. But as soon as he did he felt it slowly begin to grow, and he jerked his hand away in alarm.
Something in him now understood that Ghirahim was indeed alive, somewhere in his dwelling. He looked down to his hand with a puzzled frown, not liking the way he didn't understand, again, how he just somehow knew this.
With no other sign of action from the sword, Link again rested it across his back, and made the flight back to Skyloft, alighting quietly beside the academy and quickly slipping inside to lock himself in his room.
A whole day passed with nothing from the sword. It remained quiet and still, as though lost in slumber. Link examined it occasionally, but nothing seemed to be wrong aside from that it wouldn't react. He left it to its healing, and tried to distract himself. Thankfully, no one came to check up on him, and he left his room as little as possible while he waited for the sword to wake.
The next day, he lazily managed to drag himself from bed and first thing examined the blade, finding nothing unusual again. Link donned his tunic and absently ate breakfast before sitting at his desk, attempting to read but barely absorbing the words. The morning passed quiet and slow. Link rested his cheek on his hand and closed his eyes, tapping his fingers on the table surface.
Off to his side, the sword took on an orange glow.
Ghirahim materialized in the center of the room, his skin again pale and unmarred, his mantle draped perfectly about his shoulders.
Link's brow twitched and furrowed, his eyes opening as his attuned ears had picked up on the very faint shimmery noise behind him. All at once he knew what it meant and he was on his feet, his chair scraping loudly backward as he whipped around and assumed an immediate fight-or-flight position.
Ghirahim was glancing around him with a vaguely disinterested expression at his bare surroundings. His eyes came to rest lazily on the tensed-up boy who glared back with focused intensity.
The demon raised a brow with a hint of a smirk. "Your room, I'm assuming?" He cast his eyes again over toward the bed, then the desk before settling back on where Link stood beside the chair with fists clenched. "Hmph. Well, well, is the chosen hero really just a measly schoolboy after all? I can't say I'm surprised, but I'll admit I had some hope that you would be more... interesting behind-the-scenes."
Link still assumed his trademark silence, his gaze unwavering.
Ghirahim sighed dramatically. "Oh, honestly, is the look really necessary? I do prefer at least some semblance of civility, and I put up with your incessant rudeness for far too long as it is." He pulled at his white gloves, appearing to pay close attention to the act. "Unless that's just the attitude you will choose to wield me with... Master." His eyes flicked up with a dark smirk, and Link's expression broke, noticeably taken aback. The reaction gave the spirit a measure of satisfaction, and he chuckled under his breath.
"You're… healed." Link blurted, his assessing part of his brain catching up with him and his notice of Ghirahim's reverting to the form Link was most familiar with, complete with immaculate clothing and pristine skin, had jumped to the front of his mind.
Ghirahim gave his other hand the same aloof inspection. "So I have." He clenched his fingers in a graceful curl. "Back to perfect condition and full strength."
Link's eyes flicked automatically toward Ghirahim's blade to the side of him and back, and the demon's lips twitched in a smirk.
"Stunning, isn't it?" He waved his hand, and the sword came to hover beside him. "I am unique on a level you probably could not understand, little as you know of this world and the expanses of magic that exist."
Link was staring at the sword, mesmerized. "It looks kind of different now…" he murmured.
Ghirahim shrugged. "I need to be of proper use to you, hmm?"
The boy snapped out of his reverie, his awed eyes instantly hardening. "You… you shouldn't be of use to me at all. You shouldn't be here." The abrupt venom in his tone was startling to himself, but he did not break his angry gaze, his fists tightening again.
Even so, the spirit simply raised a brow, and bent his wrist so his fingertips touched his brow, shaking his head with a long-suffering sigh. "Foolish boy. I have every right to the ground I walk on. After all, it was by your actions that I am standing where I am right now at all. Are you really still so fixated on the past? Despite these decisions you've made? How hypocritical."
"Are you really going to be so indifferent to the past?" Link retorted.
"Yes." Ghirahim returned smoothly, standing straight.
The boy blinked a few times, his tense stance loosening. "…How?" He said, his voice suddenly a bit quieter. "How can you?"
"What good would it do me? You are no longer in my way, and hanging on to such a petty grudge would be a waste of energy."
Link continued to stare at him, and Ghirahim laughed. "Are you expecting me to grovel an apology? I have nothing to ask for pardon from, despite what you believe. I care little for what you think of me." He waved a hand dismissively. "But no matter. You see, I do hope you overcome your adorable internal debating, hero… but for your sake. There's no take-backs, you see." He grinned slowly, a charming, disturbing smile, his hand spreading palm-up and the edge of it sweeping to touch his middle as he lowered into a bow, not breaking eye contact. "We are bound for the duration of fate itself. I am now yours, entirely."
Link sucked in a breath. Reality washed over him in a dizzying wave. Everything became stiflingly still, and Ghirahim didn't say anything else to break the smothering atmosphere.
Angry words jumped to mind, wanting to yell, scream with frustration that he didn't want it, he didn't want to own another inhabited blade - or rather, the responsibility that came with it. He didn't want another destiny. But the words died in his throat as he looked at the demon before him, replaced by a sudden black desire to grab hold of the great blade itself and ram it mercilessly through Ghirahim's chest.
That thought alone was enough to alarm the boy, but he was more alarmed when the blade swung toward him and his hand was abruptly gripping the hilt.
He blinked down at the sword and up at Ghirahim, startled out of his anger. Ghirahim was eyeing him with an enigmatic glint to his dark irises, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips.
"Such animosity you still foster, child." He said with some admonishment.
That knowing tone made Link tense harshly. "You did try to kill me, my best friend, and bring about the end of the world."
Ghirahim shrugged. "Hmph… I don't feel the need to explain myself to you."
Link looked away, clenching his hands. He didn't want to let his emotions get the better of him now. Besides… if what Ghirahim said was true… he had a point. Keeping a grudge would be nothing but exhausting. Whatever the demon was holding back, he wouldn't give it up now.
Link slowly relaxed, feeling his deep-set weariness spreading through his limbs again, though he tried to keep it from showing.
"Alright-"
He was interrupted by a knock at the door, making him jump slightly. His eyes flickered to the door and then to the amused look on Ghirahim's face.
"You- you have to hide."
Ghirahim raised a brow. "Now now… still keeping me like a dirty little secret, are you? I'm a bit insulted, really."
"Just- shut up, and don't let anyone see you!" Link hissed impatiently, holding up the blade.
Ghirahim flipped a hand. "As you wish, Master…" He hummed, melting into orange light that returned to the sword in Link's hand.
He quickly stashed the sword under the bed and nervously opened the door.
"Hey, Link- I was wondering if you'd come back yet." Zelda greeted him with a soft smile. "I heard last you were seen, you were flying toward Faron. So you finally took that trip, huh?"
Link blinked a few times, gathering his wits. "I… yeah, I- I did." He nodded.
"And are you feeling any better…?" She tilted her head. "You look tired..."
He rubbed his lips together, his thoughts leaping to the hidden sword. "Zelda, I…" He exhaled slowly.
"…Don't worry. I'm fine."
