I do not own The Legend of Zelda, Hyrule Warriors, or the characters used within, nor do I make money off of this piece.


If he were honest with himself, Link felt a twinge of envy towards the old Heroes that had come before him. He had heard the tales, the same as anyone in Hyrule would have. How, in times of great evil and darkness, a youth in green would ride alone against overwhelming odds. A virtual one-man army, who would wield the sacred blade and cast light back unto the kingdom.

It had been a week since Impa had pushed the green tunic into his arms, and Link was beginning to crave solitude. It wasn't the discomfort of travelling – marching for days and camping where convenient had become second nature over the years. But the attention he was beginning to garner was just disturbing.

Link was, by nature, someone who preferred to keep to himself. For his first year as a recruit he was thought to be mute, until the day came when he was given a wooden sword and he couldn't help but cry out as he swung it. Several of his fellow recruits tried to strike him in conversation afterwards, but they didn't get far. Most considered him shy. Others viewed him as a nuisance – a trainee who thought themselves better than the rest. After all, there was one in every batch, and sooner or later they were all taken down a peg.

But now, Link found himself in a most unique situation. As he would slowly trot along on top of Epona, the rest of the army seemed to revere him as a Goddess-granted miracle. A real Hero, who stepped forward in Hyrule's time of need to lead them all to victory. And everyone had an opinion that they wanted to share with him. Some wanted his input on strategy, but most just asked him mundane things, like if he enjoyed winter. Just enough for them to one day raise their drink and claim "I once knew the Hero – we were always chatting in the off hours."

It almost made him wish for the days of being thought to be mute. On top of all this, there was his new teammates to consider. Since arriving, Sheik would unashamedly stare through a lone eye, often asking philosophical questions and laughing at whatever voiceless gesture he provided. Lana was the same, only she possessed a less-intense nature.

Before long, Link allowed himself to become withdrawn. Proxi certainly talked enough for them both, and he would find some small pleasure in cleaning his blade at the end of the day. When the time came for them all to go separate ways, Link didn't mind taking a path to himself. A change was as good as a holiday, as far as he was concerned.

"Master, I calculate that you require adequate rest after today's events."

Link was certain that if he lived to be a hundred (however unlikely that was) he would never encounter another person like Fi. If she could be called a person, anyway. She was kind enough to volunteer her story without being asked.

"I am the chosen blade, given form by the Goddess herself, to better aide my true master when the time will come," she had said. At the time, Link could only guess the sight of this strange person dancing around the room was enough to translate that he had no clue what was going on. Since then, he had begun to think instead that Fi really was a servant of a Goddess.

Either that, or she had ESP. She certainly had a good habit of informing him of chances and predictions that turned out true.

"Furthermore," she added, coming to a stop beside him. "I can say with great certainty that your blade is clean." Link said nothing, but returned the rag to his belt. He almost wished she would go away. He certainly didn't ask for her input, and the matter-of-fact way she had of explaining things was annoying. And he was sure he didn't like to be called "Master."

"You will rest then?" she asked, and he gave her a curt nod. Then she was gone, sliding along airwaves with her cape fluttering behind her. Skyloft was a change of pace alright, but not by much.

The next time Link really encountered Fi was after the skirmish at the Sealed Grounds, where the spirit perched herself at the edge of the rise and looked down. Curiosity and post-battle adrenalin led him beside her, and he joined her in looking down towards the re-buried pillar.

"It still lives," she said, and then Link was sure she had some way to read his mind. "It will take nothing less than divine intervention against the Imprisoned." That peaked his interest, and when he gave her a pointed look, he was beginning to feel grateful that she knew what he wanted to ask.

"I am a servant of the Goddess," she claimed again, before delicately leaping off the edge and twirling, skating on thin air. "When the time comes, I will aid my Master, the Hero of this time. Then, our war with the Imprisoned will begin."

Link didn't feel as much envy as he did for his namesakes, suddenly. Not so much because someone was destined to travel with Fi and her calculating anti-personality. Because someone was destined to face a war of their own, regardless of what was done. Some things were just... going to happen, no matter what. Right?

"Your blade will require extra cleaning tonight, Master," the spirit offered, still gracefully twirling. He actually had begun to look forward to the practice – anything to take his mind off of bitter truths.

Now he was sure Fi was a mind-reading servant of Hylia.

"The Princess has been seeking you out." Link didn't bother to look up from his task, instead focusing on pushing the rag into the divot of his sword. Even if she didn't walk, he had begun to recognise the telltale flutter of her robe as Fi sought him out. "You wish to avoid her." It wasn't a question, and Link didn't feel like nodding to it either way.

"Are you upset that the Princess deceived you with her disguise?" Link sighed in frustration – she wasn't about to go away, that much was certain.
"Now why would I worry about that?" he asked, voice rough with natural disuse.
"Miss Impa feels suitable frustration for the deception," she said without pause, and Link almost laughed at that. How would Impa react to hearing that her stony image was being shattered by the spirit of an old sword?

"She'll find me eventually," he said, focusing on his cleaning. "That's what they're all saying – she and I together, or something."
"Then you are feeling frustration over events you do not control."
Link's head lowered and he sighed, partly out of annoyance, but mostly for what Fi had seemingly confirmed. He and Princess Zelda were "fated," or something.

Fi's predictions were always right, after all.

"Maybe I don't like the idea of my life planned without being asked first," he muttered bitterly. "Think you could tell your Goddess that for me sometime?" It was a cheap jab, but she didn't react.

She never did, really.

"You both are bound by the Sacred Triangles," she stated instead. "Beyond that, your life is yours to dictate." It was, as always, spoken in her dry tone. When Link lifted his head to look at her, she remained impassive, her large, sightless eyes staring at him.

"And how often have all the other Heroes had a say in their lives?" he asked. He wasn't sure if he imagined it or not, but Fi almost seemed to shake her head.
"I know only that which may guide in times of need, Master," she said. She almost sounded apologetic.
"I guess we're both servants for the Goddess then, aren't we?" He resumed cleaning his blade with renewed focus.
"You are angry," she said, and he almost lost his patience. He wanted to demand what this spirit could possibly know of anger.

Like so many times before, Fi seemed to know the unspoken question either way.

"I believe I have felt anger before," she said quietly. "Many times since we have met, over the course of our encounters with darkness." She was quiet then, and Link mulled over this confession. Fi actually felt things?
"Often, being quiet is one's only way to cope, is it not, Master?"

Link's head lowered again, a hot feeling of shame clawing its way through his gut.
'I'm sorry,' he thought.
The spirit remained quiet, longer than she usually did, before her heels spun and she began to flutter away.
"Your blade is clean – you take good care of it," she said as she departed.
He wasn't sure what to make of that one.

The night after Link had drawn the Master Sword from its pedestal, it had taken strict orders and threats from Impa to keep the mass of soldiers from fawning over it. With the sacred blade on his back, there was no denying that Link was truly the Hero of their time, destined to lead them to victory against the forces of darkness. The first chance he got, he escaped to a quiet corner of the camp to sit and inspect it.

There was no denying it – the Master Sword was flawless. The handle was perfectly balanced, hilt a simple but elegant design. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he missed the familiar flutter of robes behind him.

Fi's voice almost made him jump.

"This is the blade of evil's bane," she intoned. "You will not have to clean it so much. It will not allow blood to stain it." When he was sure he hadn't accidentally cut himself on the razor's edge from her scare, Link buried the urge to glare at her and instead held it up to admire.

"... it reminds me a bit of you," he said, turning the blade over to admire the handle. The shape was certainly reminiscent to that of the Goddess Blade which Fi formed.
"It too was crafted by the Goddess, many years ago," she said. "However, this has been shaped and sharpened by other sources, and I do not sense a mind within-"

Link waited for a moment, brow furrowed. It was unlike Fi to stop talking mid sentence, even when Midna had once bellowed at her to be quiet. He looked up, seeing her perched in the air and staring intensely at the Master Sword. But, whatever effect it had on her was lost on her expressionless features. And then the spirit turned and flew away, leaving Link as confused as the first time he had met her.

They had little interaction over the days that followed. Without the one presence who seemed to be able to talk to him without him actually talking, he had taken more time to be by himself and avoid the curious men he had begun to inspire. With the Master Sword in hand, Link threw himself into the thick of the fray, quickly decimating any opponent he faced.

The more he triumphed, the greater the awe of him grew, and the more he withdrew. When Cia had actually managed to rip out the very frustration and independence he had created for himself, Link had left the Temple of Souls a much more humbled man.

Fi broke her silence that night, descending upon him with her matter-of-fact attitude.

"No other Hero will be given the advantage of allies such as you, Master," she said firmly. "You would be most wise to utilize this." But after days of confusing absence, followed with a lecture from the indifferent spirit, Link wasn't about to trust himself to convey his questions with just a look on his face.

"Then tell me what you know about the Master Sword," he demanded. Fi was emotionless, as he expected, but she did seem to hesitate.
"I already have," she answered, and began to turn until Link grabbed hold of the flowing robe that she wore.
"Then tell me what you think of it." Even without real eyes, he was sure the spirit was glaring at him in her own way. He let go of her only when she turned towards him fully.

"The Master Sword is forged by the Goddess," she said. "Held only by a true Hero during times of darkness. And when their task is complete, the sword is returned to the pedestal, to pass the years until it is needed again." Here she paused, lowering herself closer to the ground and looking away.
"I predict with certain accuracy that, when the time comes, my form will be taken and sharpened to become that same Master Sword you hold now."

Link couldn't help but draw the blade, holding it outwards as though comparing the two of them. As if Fi's spirit was remotely close to the blade of evil's bane. Yet, there was a certain familiarity between them...

"You've grown quieter," he mumbled, looking at the sword in his hand as though it was about to turn around and say hello.
"That is because I am to become dormant," she said, and even with her indifferent voice, it seemed to have the same impact as her announcing her death.
"The Master Sword has a spirit within it," she said, fluttering closer to look up at the fine edge. "But there is no call to it. It is in deep sleep, perhaps never to awake."

In true Fi fashion, when she turned her attention from the blade to Link, she knew what he was thinking.
"You are feeling sorrow," she said, as airily as the time she spoke of anger. "I do not believe I have experienced it personally."

She turned and departed. For once, Link felt himself wanting to say something, but his voice didn't come. If Fi sensed he had questions, she never said a word.

When the time came to say goodbye, Link found he did have things he wanted to say. Zelda had claimed the biggest influence had been his experience with Cia in the Temple of Souls. That perhaps he had seen the value in trust and opening yourself up. Midna had casually claimed that, after missing the opportunity to "go 'undercover' with Cia," he had probably learned to live a little more.

Well, they were both half right, if nothing else.

"The Master Sword has gotten used to you," Fi had said that morning. "It recognizes you for the Hero you are, Master."

Link hadn't really thought about it, but there was one thing that had been on his mind of late.
"Would you do something for me?" he asked. She paused, head tilted to the side as though calculating the request.
"If I can," she finally said.

"I don't want you to call me Master. Not anymore." She nodded, but didn't seem to dwell on it.
"You were not my true Master, if you recall – but we were joined by coincidence, and the title was suited to you." He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.
"That's not what I mean," he mumbled, finding his voice failing him. Since she had divulged what she knew of her fate as the Master Sword, Link couldn't help but think of the other one, the Hero who was destined to travel with her. Who would take her, shape her, sharpen her, and lay her to rest in sacred stone.

Even if it wouldn't be his fault, Link both envied him the experience, and pitied him for what he would come to do.

Fi's true Master would give her purpose and then put her to sleep.

"I don't want you to think of me as your Master, even if it was for a time," he said finally, voice beginning to grow rough.
"You wish to distance yourself from what my Master will come to do," she said. Definitely ESP, he thought, but nodded instead.

Fi actually frowned.

"I do not know what else to refer to you as," she confessed.
"... what about your friend?" he asked, and her frown grew deeper, if only by tiny fractions.
"I am unsure what that is." And it struck him once again how, for all she could think and do, Fi knew only what her Goddess creator wanted her to know. Link couldn't help the small feeling of sadness for her, and watched her face change as he knew she picked up on it. Before she could say anything, he carefully placed a hand against her back.

It was difficult, being that she was mostly robes and spiritual form, but he stepped closer just enough to feel an airy coolness coming off of her.

"I don't know how to describe it any better," he admitted, mumbling as he awkwardly embraced the smaller spirit. When she said nothing, he felt he had made enough of a fool of himself and dropped his hand, stepping back to give her space, where she fluttered on the breeze for a time.

"I think I understand," she said finally, and Link might have imagined her with a small smile of triumph on her features.

When the time came for Lana to send her back to Skyloft, she departed with a graceful twirl and glide. But not before sparing a small bow, and a parting gesture towards Link.
"Thank you, friend."
And then she was gone.