The Sword and The Spirit
Door? Sheik took a few steps toward where Ghirahim was pointing, but all he could see was an ordinary bookcase. No enchantments or charms. Then suddenly it dawned on him, and had the blonde closing his eyes and drawing his lips into a thin line as he chided his unobservantness. The bookcase wasnât hiding a door; it was the door. âWith all the spells in the worldâŚâ he mumbled as he began fiddling with the books just above his eye level. At least he could redeem himself by starting with the most logical row of books. Sure enough one of them emitted a soft click when jostled, and when pushed back the sound of neglected mechanics signal the lifting of a latch.Â
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 wasnât quite like the other livable areas, but it wasnât 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. âThis isâŚâ 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. UnlessâŚ. 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 Ghirahimâs 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 manâs scent was still on it.
Sheik had thought himself a bit more put together, but scent that had so abruptly vanished triggered a flood of memories that had him biting his lip and taking a seat on the edge of bed. The map could wait. Everything could wait for just a moment. Â He could stay here for just a moment. He could lay here and shut his eyes and for just a little while he could pretend the other would be there when he opened them again.Â
Ghirahim watched the hesitation. It was like a game. Back and forth, back and forth. Sheik clearly did not want to enter the room. But he did. He did, and he picked up the mantle, the mantle that was, in many ways, rightfully his own. He wrapped it around himself and just as Ghirahim thought Sheik would return to the study or the libraryâŚ
He just laid down. He closed his eyes, he looked like he might cry, and Ghirahim was uncomfortable. âMasterâŚâ He began, and perhaps there was a hint of caution in what was normally an emotionless voice. âIs something wrong with you?â 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.
Because he just looked awful. Like suddenly the world had come to a halt and all he could do was lay there and wait for it to start moving again. Ghirahim didnât like it. No part of him did. This was his master, and in many ways more, and he was acting like something was injuring him, either physically or emotionally.Â












