When Demise was defeated, Ghirahim initially felt relief.
He had forgotten, over the millennia that he had waited and felt so lost, how cruel Demise truly was. The longer he had been away from that bastard, the longer he felt the horrible loneliness and useless eat him alive, the more and more he wished for his psychotic master back.
But when he had returned he didn't spare a word for Ghirahim. Not. A. Single. Word. Not a "Thank you, Ghirahim," not a, "Come to me, my pet, and let us fight this child together," not even a sharp, condescending, "Why did it take you so long, you worthless toothpick?"
Ghirahim had been reminded how much he despised his Master.
He had found himself, while in his sword form, wishing that the child that had defeated him over and over could somehow, someway, defeat the undefeatable, too. Ghirahim even prayed, once, a single plea to anyone that was listening that his Master would just die.
His prayer was answered, at least for a little bit.
Demise had been defeated! Oh, the joy and relief he felt as his Master was stabbed through his chest and was forced to his knobby, scaly knees! But then there was fear, a single thorn in his black heart, that Demise would shatter him, would rip him from his sword and cast him off like a worthless piece of trash once more.
He had done it before.
Ghirahim watched with trepidation as Demise made his oath that he would return, centuries from now, and return to destroy both Link and the world. He saw the child—the Hero—remain strong, never faltering, as Demise was forced to wheezing breathes and a trembling grip.
Ghirahim felt his chance, saw his opportunity, and pulled his consciousness away from the sword, and snapped the thread connecting him to that awful blade. Demise must have felt it too, because he growled and tried to shoot a ball of magic towards him to kill him.
The sword spirit's glowing purple and red aura dodged the hastily made orb and winked out of vision. Some distance away, a small splash was heard as Ghirahim's body materialized and landed in the cool water.
Demise was encased in the Master Sword, and Ghirahim, from where he lay in the shallow water in his humanoid form, smiled into the reflective water. His chest was aching, from both the weeping wound and the aching loneliness, his eyes felt heavy and his entire body felt tense, scratched. But that didn't stop him from smiling, from letting out a small, delighted laugh.
He felt more than saw Link and the Master Sword spirit approach him. He didn't move, he didn't have to. He didn't want to. Ghirahim closed his eyes and smiled again, the bloodstained lips pulling taught across his teeth.
A boot nudged into his rips, almost tentatively, and Ghirahim couldn't help but laugh at the gesture. The foot was rapidly withdrawn and he could hear a sword being drawn. Ghirahim giggled at the sound and didn't try to turn his head. It took too much effort.
"Go ahead," he whispered. "Kill me, Hero. You've freed me."
There was silence. Ghirahim cracked open an eye when nothing happened. "Didn't you hear me? I said kill me. Are you deaf?"
"I'm not deaf," the child—the Hero—said quietly. "I'm thinking."
"A dangerous pastime," Ghirahim said, not even bothering to keep his voice down. "Stop it and just kill me already!"
"Why?" The question was innocent enough. An innocent question falling from innocent lips.
"I am nothing without a Master," Ghirahim said bluntly, finding the strength somewhere inside of him to pick up his head and turn it towards the Hero. His green tunic was torn, his hair golden blonde mussed up and Master Sword pointed down, towards the left side of his boot. He was watching Ghirahim with an expression of apprehension, confusion, and a bit of pity.
"I am a useless trinket without him," he continued. "Demise is dead. I will be of no use to him when he returns. I am nothing. Save me the theatrics, Hero, and just kill me already."
The Hero tilted his head to the side, like a curious animal. "No," he said with an air of finality.
Ghirahim started and looked up at him, his hands involuntarily clenching with anger. "Why not? Oh, is death too easy a punishment for me? Must I spend the rest of my days in this torturous, lonely, useless life as penance for the deeds done against the Goddess's Chosen Hero?"
The Hero looked uncomfortable. "I won't kill you. Not when you're lying down, defenseless. No, that's cold-blooded murder."
Ghirahim sneered but hadn't the strength to do much more. "And killing me in a fight won't be?"
"I only kill when necessary," the Hero said shortly as he sheathed his sword in the sheath across his back.
Ghirahim sighed, slumping back and watched the ripples his breath made in the water. "Leave me, then, you useless mortal."
There was the sound of tinkling bells and the sword spirit of the Master Sword flipped out of the pommel and hovered near her kind, victorious Master. "Master," she said in a monotone. "May I make a suggestion?"
"Of course, Fi," the Hero said pleasantly.
"Thank you, Master," Fi said before she continued. "There is a 97% possibility that when we must part as companions, you will be in need of a sword that is not made of Skyloftian steel. Ghirahim's blade was crafted similar to the Master Sword's. I suggest that, if Ghirahim is willing—which is an 84% chance—you wield his purified blade after you part with the Master Sword."
The Hero blinked in what seemed like shock and Ghirahim even started at the suggestion. He tried to force himself up, to strangle that confounded Holy Spirit for analyzing his wandering thoughts, but his arms were too weak and pain shot up through the wound in his chest and along every nerve in his body. He cried out, admonishing himself for the sign of weakness, and fell back to the ground, his chest flaring with agonizing pain.
The Hero seemed to react without thinking and he took several steps forward as if to help him. Ghirahim's glare and hiss stopped him, but a pretty shade of red colored the Hero's cheeks and the tips of his two pointed ears.
Fi continued as if nothing had happened. "Though considering the past malice shared between the two of you, I conclude that past events can be forgotten if the reasoning behind Ghirahim's actions were revealed. I believe this to be the safest course of action following Demise's downfall, excluding Ghirahim's death."
The Hero bit his bottom lip and looked at the almost pitiful Ghirahim as he breathed harshly and glared at both of them. Link cocked his head to the side, that confounded puppy dog eyed expression falling over his features effortlessly, and he took a few steps forward to ask, "Did he always treat you like that?"
Ghirahim blinked. He hadn't been expecting that one. "Yes," he said shortly.
Another tilt of his head. Another question. "Did you…like it?"
Ghirahim scoffed and spoke without thinking. "Did you enjoy the way I toyed with you?"
The Hero smiled a bit, as if an important question had just been answered favorably. "You did invade my personal space," he laughed a bit as he took another tentative step forward. "A lot."
Ghirahim almost said, "Demise did much more than that to me," but he stopped the words just in time. He glared instead.
Link chewed his bottom lip. "You did what you did to Zelda because you wanted to revive him, but you didn't like the way he treated you…why did you do it, then?"
"I was alone and useless," Ghirahim snapped, reaching his breaking point. He was getting annoyed with the Hero's pointless questions. "I missed my only Master, alright? It was my only chance to be something again."
That seemed to do it for the hero. Ghirahim started as a partially gloved hand was extended down towards him. He followed the arm up to the Hero's face. He looked questioningly at him, scowling too.
"Come on," the Hero said. "We need to get back to the temple. We can talk back there, okay?"
Ghirahim scowled—he was doing that a lot, wasn't he?—and clenched his hands. He refused to immediately grab the olive branch that was dangling right before his eyes. "Why should I? We're enemies."
"Were," the Hero corrected. "Were enemies. Everyone deserves a second chance."
Ghirahim blinked up at the hero, felt the ache in his chest, collected the shattered remains of his pride and glory before he painstakingly reached put his hand and grasped the Hero's forearm. Better to have a Master—even a former enemy and nuisance—than to be useless and alone.
Fi seemed to smile before flipping back into her blade as her Master helped Ghirahim to his feet and they started towards the white glowing portal that had appeared after Demise's defeat.
"I won't call you Master," Ghirahim said irritably as they approached the portal.
The Hero laughed. "I wouldn't expect you to," he said warmly, hooking Ghirahim's slender arm over his shoulders. "I hear it enough already. I think I'd prefer Sky Child to Master."
Ghirahim smirked. "Good," he said.
The portal closed in around them, engulfed them, and swallowed them whole.
I have nothing much to say about this besides I literally sat down and started to write without any kind of plan. This is the product of too much Ghiralink fanfiction and boredom. :)
I wanted to leave my mark in this fandom…after all; I don't think I've ever loved a villain as much as I've loved Ghirahim. I have no idea why, but the moment I saw him invade Link's personal space was the moment I fell in love.
ANYWAYS, I have slight plans to continue this. Perhaps. I have no definite plan—I didn't have one starting this!—but I have a few musings that I might put into action. Tell me if I made any mistakes, I only reread this a couple of times after finishing it. Review if you like, they're very greatly appreciated and any criticism is welcomed.
I'm not sure if this will, in fact, turn into a Ghiralink or anything of the sort—though I will assure you, it won't be Zelda x Link, I just dislike Zelda for some reason—but for now everyone's remaining asexual. –pokerface-
Thanks for reading, lovies! 3 Much love!