Ghirahim

The door swung inward. A good design. Had it swung outward there surely would have been marks on the floor.  What greeted Sheik across the threshold was not the unused and disheveled room he had anticipated. It wasn’t quite like the other livable areas, but it wasn’t in a state of disrepair either. Shelves lined the walls, each filled with books of various size and shape. Some were merely pages between a flap of leather and bound with string, while others were ornately crafted.  Turning the corner at the end of one case led to a spacious study of sorts that looked as though it had been quite luxurious at one point.  At its far end was a regal looking desk scattered with old papers and notes. “This is…” Sheik muttered as he looked over the mass of ancient texts. His sentence was left to trail unfinished as he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to decide where to start. On the one hand he was supposed to be looking for a map, but on the other hand if there was anywhere he was going to find out anything about Ghirahim that might help bring him back, that place was here.

Unfortunately this room lacked a fireplace.  More than likely it was to keep it hidden, and Sheik doubted Demise actually needed any of the fireplaces scattered throughout the mansion anyway.  After some time looking through the archives Sheik eventually gave in to the cold nipping at his extremities, and ventured back out into the main library. He should have gone back for his cloak first, he knew it was cold up here. Though it was usually one of the furthest things from his mind. While the fire was quick to warm the blonde, Sheik knew that the moment he stepped away again that the chill would settle back in. He would have to run and retrieve something warmer to wear; there was no way around it. Unless…. Red eyes flitted toward the hall. Beyond a set of double doors was a room he had frequented many times before, but now as he approached it he found himself nervous. The room seemed so empty without Ghirahim. Just as cold an empty as the rest of the mansion. Sheik was about to turn back, to abandon his thought of taking one of the blankets and instead return home to get his cloak, but something in a very particular shade of red caught his eye. Strewn with uncharacteristic carelessness at the foot of the bed was Ghirahim’s mantle. Carefully Sheik picked up the fabric, simply holding it for a long moment before draping it around his shoulders and pulling it against himself. The man’s scent was still on it.

He just laid down. He closed his eyes, he looked like he might cry, and Ghirahim was uncomfortable. “Master…” He began, and perhaps there was a hint of caution in what was normally an emotionless voice. “Is something wrong with you?” He stood in front of Sheik, and maybe, when he opened his eyes, he would see that the one he wanted was there... he simply was trapped. But of course, that was unlikely.

Collecting himself he turned back to the task at hand. “It won’t take long to get there. I’ve been there many times before,” he said, looking up to meet blank eyes. He knew they would be empty, but Sheik still clung to the possibility that behind them his Ghirahim was still there.

In this room there was a large bookcase pressed back against a wall. Nestled within that bookcase were many shelves. One such shelf had a latch and hinges, just behind the books. The only possible giveaway to this effect, the only thing different that marked which book held the latch behind it, was a bright red book. It was the same color as Ghirahim’s mantle, in fact.

There was no magic involved. No shadows hiding it. Just a book sitting in front of a latch. When the latch was pressed down, the book case would swing open, just like a door. Mansions of all varieties included hidden passages like this. It was where one was meant to keep their safest treasures or documents. There were a number of passages in this manor alone. Some that Ghirahim still had yet to fully explore.

His eyes passed over the damaged bookcase, Sheik’s fingers brushed over the marks almost mockingly, as if he had not been a part of causing them. Ghirahim took great, unreasonable pride in that one, solitary, damaged bookcase.

It wasn’t so much the call to duty that left him deep in thought so much as it was the thought of Ghirahim as his weapon. He had never truly seen the man as a weapon, as a tool. It led him to wonder if his initial fascination with the demon lord had been their fate tugging them closer. It made sense. The blonde had struggled to identify just exactly what that feeling had been. It had felt like attraction, but it had an underlying urgency that compelled him against his better judgment. So what did that make what they had now? ….or rather, what they had had before. Was it all just an illusion?

Sheik casted away those thoughts. No, no it wasn’t simply fate that pulled them closer. Fate didn’t sit at his bedside and rub his back when potions that dulled the pain wore off in the dead of night. Fate didn’t have a habit of wrapping itself that mantle because it was warm and held the demon lord’s scent. Fate’s touch didn’t send shiver’s down his spine. It couldn’t simply be destiny.

When Ghirahim spoke up, pulling him from his thoughts, Sheik gave a short nod. “I gathered as much… thank you.” He added the thanks quickly when part of him wondered how the sword spirit would take the response without it, even if he had removed any and all snark that would have been their had his Ghirahim been the one to tell him. There was a pause before the blonde looked up at the other. “You can’t see it can you?” Red eyes scanned the room. “I’m not sure that I can remove the illusion, but I can tell you what’s there at the least. ” Walking the perimeter, he told of each panel as he passed it. The story was much the same, until he got to a certain point. “The Goddess crafted two blades, for two heros. One hero was of the world of light and the other was of shadow. They were made only for their wielders, and together they balanced the strengths and weaknesses of either pair, made to work in tandem. However, the Hero of shadow was struck down by a…” Sheik stared at the ancient phrase and tilted his head in confusion.  ”it’s an older word, but I believe it to mean a betrayal of great magnitude. It ends there. The remaining stones are blank.”  Blank, as if there was supposed to be more.

Memories that he didn’t want flooded to him. Memories that neither side of him was meant to have. Ghirahim was not meant to know his own past, that was why Demise had erased most of it from him. As a spirit, he was unaware he had a future beyond that past, unaware that his original master was ever gone. The two things colliding hit him so strongly that he actually stumbled.

He lost his footing which was unlike him in every regard. Just a step corrected it, and he righted himself immediately. He placed a hand over his chest in a formal but silent apology that he had stepped out of place, and the hand somewhat muffled the cracking noise of one of those fractures expanding.

He didn’t say anything for a number of seconds after he was asked the question. Where would he find a better map? That was an answer that his “internal memories” knew. Of course most of his inner thoughts were wondering how much of a toll this was taking on Sheik, and his emotions, and what they shared.

“Master, in the mountains of Snow Peak there is an abandoned manor.” No it was not abandoned. Ghirahim lived there. “There is a vast library within, one which holds information dating back to the Goddesses. There you will surely find many maps of this land.” He even went on to warn him “The journey to the top of the mountain will take many days.” As if Sheik had never been there, as if everything that happened there was forgotten.

With the last torch lit the alter before them gave way, sinking slowly and making quite the racket as stone ground against stone, to reveal a stairwell. It was less weathered, and the further up the winding steps they went the more well kept it became. Upon reaching the top it was like walking into the past. The room was untouched by time with the exception of a bit of dust. It was elegant, but not too flashy.  Glyphs lined the room’s columns and a mural ran along the molding where the walls and ceiling met. An alter similar, but smaller to the one in the main room was situated opposite the doorway. It held a stone tablet just like its counterpart, and marked three locations vaguely, but this one was unbroken. What caught Sheik’s eye was his tribe’s symbol . It had the blonde taking a closer look at the room.

There was something unseen. Ghirahim could not view it without Sheik’s aid, not in human for or spirit form. For that reason he simply waited for Sheik to either show or tell him what he saw—if he planned to at all.

Behind the images of the story of the Chosen Hero were a new set of glyphs.

In the beginning the land of Hyrule was created by three shining, golden goddesses. The goddess Din, who used her power to forge the lands and seas. The goddess Farore, who used her courage to create the life to inhabit the lands. The goddess Nayru, who used her wisdom to create the laws and orders for those creatures to live by. When their task was completed they created the Triforce, a source of their ultimate powers, they entrusted it to Her Grace, the Goddess Hylia, who the lands were named for.

Demise, the dark god, envied the Triforce. Its power was unmatched. With it, he could claim any world. He did everything in his power to take it, including murdering the people of Hyrule, and turning many into monsters and demons.

What remained of the humans, Hylia saved. She gathered the more innocent hylians and lifted them to Skyloft, safe from the world below. To one hero she entrusted a blessed sailcloth, to grant him access to the world below. The remaining Sheikah were transported to a safe haven, a place that would come to be called Kakariko. She then shielded it from access to anyone, even herself, by wiping its location from the memories of all who ever knew of it.  To one hero she entrusted a blessed mantle, to grant him access to the Shadow Realm safely.

Two blades were forged by Her Grace’s hands. Two weapons pure and true. With her power, she breathed life into both blades. Each blade was formed for its master. Designed that no other could wield its true power.

It was here that the story differed greatly from the tale told in the first room. This chamber was clearly not for Fi. Her chamber was below. The story continued. It continued very… vaguely. The story went on to say that before the Sheikah hero could even properly obtain the sword forged for him, he was betrayed. His story ended there.

Out of habit the blonde had grabbed two mugs while preparing tea. It wasn’t until he had set them on the table and collapsed into a chair that he realized it was not likely that Ghirahim would be drinking the second cup. It was such a small slip, but it stung terribly. Even if the man wasn’t dead, it still felt that way.  The demon lord had brought a comfortable chaos to his life. His unpredictability was exciting. It originally confused Sheik, but he had found the mystery to become pleasant. It would be a lie to say that there hadn’t been an influence on his own person as well. Granted it was more often when he was around Ghirahim, but he found himself to be more impulsive. Or maybe keeping up with the man had just made him react faster now.

Sheik barely noticed as the tea in his cup slowly drained. His thoughts wandered through the alleyways of his mind, invoking everything from feelings of pride over his reacceptance, and the strange mix of fear and honor over the quest ahead, to the unforeseen circumstances that caused him heartache and the slight embarrassment of realizing how dearly he missed his smart mouthed bastard of a lover. It was strange to think that, to call Ghirahim his lover. They never exactly declared what their relationship was, and neither seemed to have any intentions of doing so. They simply were.

Sheik went to bring the cup to his lips once more only to see that it was empty. A soft sigh left him and he pushed himself to his feet before making his way to the sink, both cups in hand and leaving them near the basin to be washed at another time. For now he would do as Ghirahim had suggested and rest. However as he lay in bed his mind remained restless. Tomorrow , tomorrow he could be concerned, Sheik told himself. And while the blonde managed to shove away the thoughts of destiny and duty, he couldn’t stop the ones that revolved around a certain sword spirit.

Interestingly enough, that silence gave him time to think. To think as himself, and not as the efficient robot he appeared to be. He was so much more than that. He thought about how he might return to normal, if he ever could. He thought about Sheik’s ability to pick up on the obvious, and perhaps the not so obvious. He thought about the identity crisis he was constantly having for thousands of years.

All of those thoughts were interrupted by the moans.

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t bring himself out of the blade. He couldn’t confirm it but he knew. He knew what was happening and it filled him with a spectrum of emotions and thoughts. Most of them frustration. Frustration because he was trapped in this sword. Frustration because he would have never left Sheik alone like he was if he could escape. Frustration because those sounds reminded him of the many times they had been together.

It made him somewhat lonely, too. In a room with Sheik he felt lonely, and that was something… interesting. He wasn’t sure if he had felt loneliness before. It was new. It was unpleasant. It made his heart heavy.

But he could swear, amongst the muffled noises that Sheik was doing an awful job of hiding, he might have heard his name.

Not his full name. Just that nickname. That name that only Sheik was allowed to call him.

Ghira…

He didn’t feel so alone after that. In fact, he felt somewhat at peace. He would find a way back to Sheik, that was certain enough.

…

Their journey would be to the Goddess Statue, a place that Sheik surely knew well. Ghirahim certainly did. It laid where his master—well not his master, really—had fallen. Where Demise fell. The Sealed Grounds. When morning came Sheik gathered his supplies, much to Ghirahim’s approval, and he used his power to teleport them there.

It was on these grounds that Ghirahim finally materialized—sporting three rather large cracks and two that were fairly thin around the center of his chest—but he paid them no mind. They did not pain him. In fact, he was hardly aware they existed, save for the inner part of him that was trying to escape.

You’re so B A D

but I want a taste