Chapter Text
What remained for a sword, when her master had laid her to rest?
Fi’s sleep was dreamless and contented, her sacred power returned to the pedestal where she had rested for a thousand years. Her role in service to the goddess’ chosen had been fulfilled, and only the faintest wisp of thought allowed her to wonder what would become of her now. Was she to sleep forever? Was she to be drawn by another a thousand years from now, perhaps to serve another warrior of the goddess with all of the experience she now wielded?
It was but only the last that gave Fi pause, for sword spirits were forged with loyalty beyond measure. It was what made them invaluable partners in long quests, to give their wielder support when their strength failed, comfort when they were alone, wisdom when they were unsound. Hylia had not forged Fi lightly, and it was more than the goddess’ divine power that made her the hero’s blade.
But that same loyalty was what had rotted Ghirahim so thoroughly. It was what had made him spend centuries working ceaselessly to break his master free. It was what had driven him mad with grief and rage.
Fi was not unmindful. She knew, given time, that she would become the same. For Link. For her master. For a mortal man who would die in a fraction of the lifetime she’d already lived. If she let herself, she would go to exceptional lengths to keep Link safe, keep him happy, keep him hers.
And that was why she had asked him to put her away. If she served him for very much longer, she would never serve another. Not even at the goddess’ behest.
(This, Hylia knew. Once more: she had not forged Fi lightly.)
It was this, then, that came right to mind when she felt herself being drawn – not a millennia after she’d been put away, not a century, not even a lifetime. No- no, it was Link that drew her, and he looked troubled. His normally carefree face was creased and pinched, head tilted, and he looked… not even a year older than when she’d last seen him.
Silently, he laid her across his lap, legs folded as if he intended to stay for a while, and then hesitated, staring at her. He fingered the flat of her blade gently, delicately, like a well-loved treasure.
Without prompting, Fi twisted out of her blade and knelt across from him.
Link would not have disturbed her rest without good reason.
“Yes, master?” she asked quietly, meeting his eyes without hesitation. He blinked at her, his entire body relaxing like just the sound of her voice was a comfort.
I’m sorry for disturbing your rest, he signed, which was the second sign of how rattled he was. Link defaulted to at least partially verbal communication except when distinctly agitated. I didn’t know where else to turn.
Fi blinked at him placidly. She trusted his judgement.
He seemed to take comfort in her patience.
We think that something went wrong when we destroyed Demise, Link explained. Fi noted that his hands were trembling – not enough to disrupt his sign, but her sharp eyes could make it out. His consciousness is dead but his magic isn’t. And…
He faltered, eyes wide and round, searching hers as if for answers. Fi analyzed the clues she’d been given and felt the corners of her mouth turn slightly downward.
“My hate never perishes,” Fi quoted seamlessly, not breaking eye contact with her master. “It is born anew in a cycle with no end. I will rise again. Those like you, those who share the blood of the goddess and the spirit of the hero, they are eternally bound to this curse. An incarnation of my hatred shall ever follow your kind, dooming them to wander a blood-soaked sea of darkness for all time.”
Link nodded, shoulders rounded with shame and uncertainty. Hylia says that Demise cast an anathema spell.
Link never called Zelda ‘Hylia’.
Fi blinked once. And then a few more times, rapidly, calculating again given what information she had, what she could extrapolate, double-checking what her analysis concluded. Then she triple-checked.
“Master,” she said, her voice as soft as she could make it, as if that would cushion the impact of her conclusion. “My calculations indicate that such a curse, cast by a being of Demise’ power, would likely grip your soul for millennia.”
An anathema spell was a curse of vengeance, cast with a dying breath; traditionally it was flung among humans and Hylians, and the victim always found themselves dogged with hardship and tragedy for the remainder of their natural life. It required extraordinary hatred and natural power. Fi was unable to find previous record of one cast by a divine being.
Link was dead pale, but not surprised. This was nothing that he had not already been told, or figured out himself. No, he was looking at her like he was desperately hoping she would produce a solution.
That was unfortunately not within Fi’s power.
Someone came through here earlier, Link signed, quick and stressed. He called himself Ocarina, and he said he was the hero of time. When no one recognized the title, he said he was from the future. He seemed pleased.
Link swallowed. Fi waited patiently, letting Link gather himself enough to continue his explanation.
He asked me, Link signed, much slower and noticeably shakier, what legends I knew of the hero. When I met Zelda. When I defeated my evil. He seemed surprised by how confused I was. And then he said that I might be the first.
Fi had been created with extraordinary intelligence. “How many?”
Link’s eyes glistened with a fear she hadn’t seen from him since the first time Demise had broken free from his seal. Seven. They’ve met seven. They span three timelines and hundreds of years and… and they’re all me. They all have my face and my skill and my sign and, and I don’t know what to do.
Fi didn’t know what to do either. The goddess had not planned for this. None of them had planned for this. What she did, in the end, was tip forward just enough to tilt her forehead against her master’s in a gesture of intended comfort.
Sword spirits were forged with loyalty beyond measure.
“Master Link,” she said, so soft as to be at the edge of Hylian hearing. “I would not leave you to face this fate alone.”
And she knew, the moment that tears started to spill down her master’s face, that it had been the right thing to say.