"Ugh…"

That was the first thing to leave the fantastical demon's mouth when he woke from a long, restless night of almost no sleep. The second thing to leave his mouth was a set of four coughs, which was closely followed by a slurred profanity, and lastly, there was a sneeze—although, that was more from his nose than his mouth.

"My head…"

Slowly, Ghirahim sat up, placing his palm against his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing pressure behind his eyes. His skin was hot, but he felt as though he needed to wear seven more layers.

Slapping himself across the cheek in an attempt to seize consciousness, he toppled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, mumbling to himself incoherently. Turning on the faucet, he waited for the water to warm and thought back to the previous day.

He had fought the skychild in the Fire Sanctuary, revealed a bit of his true form for the sake of dramatic flair, and then he left. Sure, his throat had been a little sore and a slight headache had set in, but that was nothing notable. He was always working, rarely got enough sleep, and showing only part of his true form required quite a bit of exertion on his part. A little pain was expected, but he never thought he would wake up feeling like he had been run over by Goron!

Splashing water over his face, he let out another grunt of general dissatisfaction, shutting off the flow and drying his hands before taking a look in the mirror. He frowned at the redness around his nose and ran his fingers under his eyes, which were slightly puffy and showed horrible lack of sleep.

"I have absolutely no desire to stalk the skychild today. No. Desire."

But it wasn't really optional, was it? Hylia didn't exactly sit around waiting for her adversaries to run on all four cylinders. So, he kept his bitter grumbling to himself and got dressed, heading out of his castle with a permanent scowl etched onto his face.

Ridiculous. You would think the skychild himself would get sick every now and then, and give me a break from all this blasted work!

Ghirahim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stormed past his moblins, subconsciously satisfied with the fact that they cowered in fear of him.

Now stop thinking like that, Ghirahim. You're doing this for Master—that's the important part. There are worse things than a head cold.

He came to the door of the castle and glanced behind him, aiming a nasty glare at the blundering creatures. "Well?!" He spread his arms, lips pulling back as he snarled at the mob. "Don't just stand there. Clean this castle, gather my books, do my laundry, cook dinner, feed the prisoners, and for goodness sake's get that carcass off the floor!"

The bokoblins exploded into action, and Ghirahim threw his hand up, snapping his fingers and disappearing in his signature shroud of diamonds.

When the smog cleared, Ghirahim found himself flat on his back in the sands of Lanayru. He panted heavily, holding a hand over his eyes and lying still for a while, black spots floating over his vision in between slow blinks. A deep ache permeated his being, and sweat trickled down his face, through shudders still ran their course through his body.

"I really… really am sick, aren't I? How unfortunate. One thousand, three hundred and ninety-five years of health, and I decide to get sick during this crucial time…"

He let his thoughts trail, forcing himself to his feet and beginning his trek across the sands. He knew where to find the flames the boy was searching for, but since he did not have the sword, it did him little good to hunt them down. And honestly, when it was so perilous to arrive at their locations, why would he bother? Link would be back on the shores of the Sand Sea soon enough, and Ghirahim could easily wait there for him.

Perhaps 'soon enough' was an understatement. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing. After all, when one is as sick as a remlit, one doesn't mind waiting two to three hours for the arrival of another. They are free to sleep in the shade and attempt to ease their now excruciating, migraine-like headache without any interruptions. On the other hand, if it had been done quickly, one could have been home soaking in a tub of warm, scented water with a warm rag over his head.

Who took three hours to gather some fire, anyway?

Ghirahim sighed heavily, sniffing through congested passageways as Link darted past his hiding place, the typical expression of determination pasted onto his face. Ghirahim was not quite certain what it was he was looking for, as he already had the flame, but he figured there was no harm in tailing him.

What are you up to, Skychild?

Link continued into a cave-like structure, and from there, he moved towards a small crawl space opposite the door he had just come through. Ghirahim approached, curiosity telling him to get closer. He crept towards the boy, fighting off the tickle in his throat and moving through the shadows as Link's feet disappeared down the tunnel.

Crouching down, Ghirahim watched the boy move, smirking slightly as he hit his head on a low rock.

How cute.

He raised his hand to snap his fingers but stopped.

Oh… perhaps that is not the best of plans. Especially considering last time…

He cocked his head at the hole and bent down a little lower.

Still, there is no possible way I can fit.

Sighing and preparing himself for the worst, he snapped his fingers and held back a groan as pain seared through his body, burning his joints and muscles as his being was reformed on the other side of the wall.

Biting his lip, he grasped the stone wall next to him and let out a soft hiss, holding his aching chest.

"Ghirahim?"

Ghirahim's head snapped up, and he realized he'd been caught. Smiling wryly at the skychild, he leaned fully against the wall and leered. "Whoopsie-daisy, I suppose I've been caught." He flipped his hair out of his face, ignoring the fact that it stubbornly returned to its former position. "Shameful how long it took you, though. Just shameful."

Link drew his sword, approaching Ghirahim with lightning in his sapphire eyes. "How long have you been following me?"

Ghirahim shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Perhaps ten minutes. Perhaps ten hours. If you don't honestly know, Skychild, that is entirely on your shoulders."

Link brandished his blade and said no more, fully ready for a fight with the demon.

"Oh, please." Scoffing, the demon gave his hair another toss. "I'm not wasting my time with you now. I'm here to gather information. Do you really think I have time to play with children?"

Link didn't seem surprised or angered by that statement, and Ghirahim narrowed his eyes.

If I were well enough, you can bet I would be battling you, Skychild. I would teach you a thing or two, as well!

Ghirahim cleared his throat to cover the cough that danced in his windpipe and began sauntering towards the nearest exit. "Well, I suppose I'll be going since nothing particularly interesting is going on with you."

Link followed him with his eyes but made no move to stop him from leaving. Ghirahim raised his fingers level with his head and brought them together, audibly grunting as the agony returned tenfold. He felt his feet land in the next room over, and shortly afterwards, the rest of his body joined them on the floor as he sprawled out, coughing violently into his fist.

My goddesses that hurts… Perhaps I should have stayed in bed… after all…

He was so tired… so, so tired. There was not a single, coherent thought in his mind. All he wanted to do was sleep and never move again. There were no thoughts about the disgrace of lying face down on the floor, no thoughts about the skychild being just a room over and probably able to hear him, no thoughts about his Master, no thoughts about the Spirit Maiden, no thoughts about anything but sleep. Fantastical, fabulous, blessed sleep.

"G…Ghirahim?"

Ghirahim shut his eyes, finding the voice vaguely familiar but unable to make any further assessments or respond.

"Fi, any advice?"

"My calculations indicate he has fallen ill."

Ghirahim could have laughed. No honestly, if he weren't so tired and sore, he could and probably would have laughed. He almost pitied the hero for having a sword with about as much usefulness as a bokoblin.

"Right… Thanks. I think I'll just…"

Just what? He'll just what? Why was his voice going away? Why was everything going away? There was nothing but static. Darkness and a thick, hazy static that kept him from experiencing or comprehending any of his surroundings. It was all black… black and empty and… quiet and… tired… he was so tired…

Unable to fight it any longer, he surrendered to the swelling darkness, eyes rolling back into his head as unconsciousness swept over him. Finally, he was asleep.

Link sheathed his sword as the disheveled demon lord blacked out, and he knelt by the side of his enemy, a small sense of worry forming in his gut. Link was a gentle spirit by nature, and he hated to see anyone in pain—even the crazy, megalomaniacal, magic-infused weapon of the most dangerous and cruel being known to mankind.

Well…

No, even him.

"Fi, if I were to hide Ghirahim, where would be the best place to do it?"

"Taking into consideration his condition and motives as well as your convenience and mission, the best place to conceal him is the northern sector of Faron Woods near Skyview Temple," she chimed.

Link nodded, a grin parting his lips. "Sounds good. Thank you, Fi."

Reaching out, he slid an arm under the demon's shoulders and another under his knees, picking him up off of the ground and hauling him towards the exit.

"Master, if I may inquire, what exactly is the purpose of this act?"

Link was still smiling when he glanced at the fallen being in his arms. "Everyone deserves compassion, Fi. Even people like Ghirahim."

"Master," she started, cocking her head to the side in a muted display of confusion. "There is a 99% chance you are more interested in seeing him sick for the sake of, as your modern slang puts it, payback."

Link spied a bird statue in the distance and picked up speed, giving a single nod and a broad, childish grin. "There's that, too."