Akkala was hushed, an eternal autumn, currently wreathed in mist.
Fi floated by his side like a wraith, as Link surveyed the land. He was still - but tense. He hasn't spoken much since leaving Zora's domain, eyes red-rimmed and mouth tight like he was holding back crying.
Fi reaches an 'arm' out, then draws back. Link doesn't react.
Eventually he makes his way down the hill, silent as a grave.
Link seems to lighten up over the next few days, although muted. He finds Koroks, and plays with foxes in the long grass; he helps set up the beginning foundations of a town with Hudson, promising to keep an eye out for any promising candidates.
On nights where the moon hangs half full, and the stars are interspaced with fireflies, he lies on the grass and sighs, deep and weary, but Fi doesn't push. Instead she hums old songs long gone, and gently brushes back his hair as he falls asleep.
Maybe she should pry a little bit; maybe she should get Wild to open up. But she fears pulling at a wound so fresh, in case he bleeds out.
After all, she is merely a sword.
There's a fierce solomness after freeing Vah Medoh; the stinging cold of a blizzard following in his wake.
Unlike after Vah Ruta, though, he doesn't wallow in it. He takes time to recuperate at Rito Village, practically adopted by Teba and his family, and Fi teases him mercilessly on it - but all in good fun, as he laughs easily. Kass, too, has a soft spot for the hero, sitting up late with him and fondly singing legends and Rito lore at his request.
He deserves some care, she thinks.
Fi sends him a fond look, and Link sends one of his own, eyes alight from the fire. He doesn't ring with the same hollowness - this hurt is softer, and the warmth of Rito village helps staunch the wound.
(She knows, Sidon, and even the King would have done the same;
but she knows, too, that that would have been a painful healing. Sidon, practically a brother, the King, the reminder of a father unrecalled. So she does not blame him, his fleeing.)
There's a peace to him when they finally leave Rito village, so Fi does not push nor pry.
Yunobo is a timid thing, she thinks, and Link agrees. Although there's something bitter in his gaze, when Yunobo compares himself to Daruk.
She does try to talk to Wild, but he brushes it aside, focused instead on Vah Rudania. He seems cheerful enough, grinning at near misses, giving Yunobo a hearty punch in the shoulder that has Fi wincing. But Wild's hand is fine, if bruised, and Yunobo seems a little more at ease.
Link is good for him, like a brother or a cousin, bolstering him up. He helps steady his nervousness, teaches him the joy in every small victory.
(But she thinks that maybe Link needs something like that, as well - someone to hold him steady.)
And even when all is said and done, he shoves the pain away and focuses on feasting and boasting with the Gorons. And Fi, frustratingly, cannot interrupt his good moments, even if she is starting to get worried.
Because even when he's laughing, that glint in his eyes is dimming, shadowed, with something brewing she cannot name.
Vah Naboris is a whole other battle; possibly one of his hardest.
The roaring sandstorm showcases well enough the turbulence of the fight against Thunderblight - desperation tingeing the air between crackling fury.
Fi had honestly screamed, a shrill sound like steel against bone when Link had seized under a well-aimed strike, just barely rolling out of the way of a blade thereafter, muscles still seizing.
She feels helpless in that moment, wild and desperate as she hovers, trying to distract Thunderblight to no avail. It cannot see her.
But Link can, and he rushes past her so furious that she feels his hair brush against her. He's howling as he hacks at the blight, and when it's finally down, he's breathing heavily.
Link brushes off Fi's fussing over his wounds. "I'm fine, really," he says hoarsely, and reluctantly she draws back, carefully watching that he takes an elixir.
Urbosa leaves him with her gift.
And they leave Gerudo desert in a shimmer of lights.
After seeing Impa, and the rest of Kakariko village, they head back to Akkala for a quiet respite.
Except Link does not rest. He does more for Tarrey Town, and clears out monster camps, and hunts Lynels.
He avoids sleep like it's malice, and practices weapon drills throughout the night, keeping something unnamed at bay.
Fi had kept quiet thus long, but she thinks it's time to put a stop to this, this whatever it is. Link has not stopped, has not properly rested since taking care of the Divine Beasts-
She pauses and takes a breath.
"Link?" Fi begins softly.
He flicks an ear. An acknowledgment.
"Link," a little more firmly, "it is time you took a break."
Link grunts, but does not stop. She can see his arms trembling from pain. A cold front is rolling in, the sky dark with clouds. She knows the cold always makes his body hurt worse.
"Link, please. Your body needs rest. At the rate you're going, there's a seventy-eight percent chance you will collapse in the next twelve hours and-" she cuts herself off. "Please."
He ignores her, continuing to run through drills, despite his hands' painful grip on his sword. Approaching thunder rumbled, not too distant.
"Link," Fi hissed. She was upset, she realized. Hot-cold running through her, her very spirit trembling. "You cannot work yourself to death!"
Krrk-boom!
Link whirled around, face twisted and furious. "They did!" He snarled, heartbroken and hurt, his hair soaked, framing his face; it had begun to rain. She's taken aback by the storm of emotions; guilty and angry and pain, pain, pain. "They died, and I died, and we failed! I failed! I can't let that happen again!" He twisted and slashed the blade deep into the trunk, driving it a third of the way through before it stopped. He tries tugging it back out but his limbs are too weak and he whines through a sob.
He suddenly slumps down and screams wordlessly, Urbosa's Fury crackling around him.
Fi's soul stutters. "Li-"
She shields herself as it strikes; even as a sword spirit she feels the power it radiates.
When the smoke and electricity clears Fi draws as close as she is able, settling on her knees on the grass. Her cloak draping over Link in the facsimile of a hug. He's squeezing his arms close and sobbing, gasping for breath in between.
"I know," she murmurs, "I know it hurts, and it has not been fair. Not to them, and not to you." He draws closer to her, still sobbing, and she tries her best to let warmth bleed into her voice. "It hasn't been fair or easy, and it's okay to be upset," she tries to give him a small squeeze, hoping he can sense it, "you have every right to be upset. But not to hurt yourself."
"Why?" He manges to choke out. "Don't, don't rem'ber-"
Fi lets him have a moment, but he doesn't continue. "Oh Link," she murmurs. "You remember enough; you cared, you still care, and that's enough. You still have feelings associated with them, you-" she tries to gather the words, how to say them not as just facts, but reassurance. "It doesn't negate that they matter to you. You have a right to grieve their absence, as well as your own missing memories of them. You're allowed to grieve."
And the dam finishes breaking - he howls and swears and cries, letting every piece he'd been bottling up spill out onto the hillside. And Fi murmurs reassurances in between listening; even as he's soaked to the bone, she doesn't interrupt, giving him this time to process and vent.
And by the end of it he's shivering, and she can't tell whether it's the cold or being wrung dry emotionally. She carefully leads him to the closest Stable and hopes he can heal. Hopes that she has been enough.
