There’s something to be said about a companion. Someone to share important moments with and to help you bear your burdens. In games and stories, companions help to flesh out the world you explore and often give you an additional reason to go on the adventure. The Legend of Zelda is full of such companions. Some of them are bursting with energy and personality; they are the very life and soul of the games they inhabit.
When Skyward Sword was first announced, it was made clear early on that the focus was going to be on swordplay and the directional capabilities of the Wii Remote. As we learned more about the plot, we discovered that the story would surround the origins of many aspects of Hyrule, including (and especially) the Master Sword. It seemed fitting, then, that our companion would have a direct connection to the forging of the blade. Enter Fi, the spirit of the sword, an inseparable aspect of the Master Sword, and our guide across the uninhabited surface of what would eventually become Hyrule.
Her personality, well, it left a lot to be desired. Instead of the usual energy and emotion we typically expect from our companions, Fi was direct, matter-of-fact, and seemingly emotionless. With her analytical style and flat delivery, “robotic” is perhaps the most fitting word for her. Very little of the story allowed for her development, despite her being a primary component of the game’s main focus, which would eventually become the most iconic weapon in the series. You could almost eliminate Fi altogether and be left with roughly the same story you had when you started. Worse yet, her constant interruptions and incessant directions made her one of the least-liked companions in the Zelda franchise.
But as the game progressed and eventually reached its conclusion, you are left standing in the temple where you began, and Fi insists that it is time to part ways. Considering how aggravating it was to be around her, you would think that it would be a relief to finally be rid of her. But for some reason, the departure is not just bittersweet, it is downright sad. During my first playthrough, I remember being on the verge of tears as Fi insisted it was time for her to go, only for those tears to flow freely as she thanked me for our time together before finally falling silent.
My own emotional disposition for tears aside, the question is — how? How is it that a character who seems to lack even an ounce of growth or connection still elicit such an emotional reaction? After all, if a character doesn’t act, react, or even speak to anything that we can attach ourselves to, there shouldn’t be anything stopping us from discarding such a pointless personality and moving on. Right?
Unless there is, buried and hidden from open view. The problem is not that Fi’s character doesn’t exist but that she’s presented to us in a way unique to her and in a way we are unfamiliar with. We don’t outrightly notice how she interacts and grows, but subconsciously we still register her responses and her observations, forging a bond that we may not notice while it’s being made. And in the face of challenge or departure, it blossoms into something beautiful and unexpected.
Fi’s Hidden Personality
Perhaps a good place to start would be to look at exactly why she is as robotic as she is. Her origins and motivation are clearly spelled out to us by both Fi herself and Zelda while explaining the nature of Link’s quest:
“[The goddess Hylia] created Fi. She made the spirit that resides in your sword to serve a single purpose: to assist her chosen hero on his mission.”
Fi follows that purpose to the letter; her focus was almost completely undivided from the task of aiding the hero. While this is most obviously manifested in her repeated explanations of tasks and directions, she is also analyzing your ability as an adventurer. Not only does she give advice about enemies, Fi also evaluates your performance against them; giving you a rating if you’ve fought enough of them.
But that evaluation extends beyond the analytics. Your actions and reactions to events occasionally elicit responses from Fi that are a bit more than what you normally expect. In the first dungeon, as you reach the end and learn of your next destination, you look at Fi, and she nods. Not exactly an emotional outpouring, but from a supposedly emotionless being, it’s significant. There are both an acknowledgment and an approval of Link and what he is trying to do. It’s a far cry from the beginning of the dungeon, where Fi asks if you are ready to traverse its dangers. Should you answer in a boastful manner, her rebuke is simple yet direct: “It would be very unwise to display overconfidence here.”
That commentary continues throughout the game, shifting between approval from carrying the appropriate gear (“You have wisely elected to carry an empty bottle”), to disapproval at your reluctance to seek the appropriate help.
It’s obvious that Fi takes her job very seriously, making sure that you have all the information you need to complete your task. Rarely, however, do we actually see how much she enjoys it. In the Ancient Cistern, as you are looking for the key needed to proceed, Fi emerges and speaks with what seems to be excitement: “Master, I have information that I am certain you will want to hear.”
There are instances where Fi refers to herself and her calculations, but the sentence above seems to cast that aside and reflects an anxiousness for Fi to share important information that she has discovered, even if the situation is already obvious to us. This happens again near the end of the game as you do what is needed to end the flooding of the forest. Although Faron had already said she would lower the water level, and as you look at the newly dried lands yourself, Fi cannot help but interject.
She seems almost proud of herself for having a correct prediction. But while we may roll our eyes at yet another obvious description, we miss a clear, if muted, expression of emotion. And even though we see most of what Fi has to show us, we don’t see everything, and some of what Fi has to share is quite surprising.
In the Lanayru Sand Sea, you are required to scale the skipper’s retreat to retrieve a sea chart of the area. As you retrieve the chart, Fi emerges again, but after she relays her normal directional information, she makes a sudden observation:
“This image would indicate that the ship’s captain spent many happy days among his many crew members.
Now why would she notice that? This random observation of a happy robot crew seems at first glance to be completely out of character for Fi. Yet it’s this observation, and many more unspoken ones, that holds the key to her story and development.
A Quiet and Analyzing Mind
One of the most notable aspects of her analysis is her constant use of percentages to predict the odds of a particular course of action. In nearly every case, she has these figures and directions already calculated, but in one situation, she does not. As you visit the dragon Faron in search of a sacred flame needed for your quest, you discover that Faron has been injured and is recuperating in Sacred Water. She demands you retrieve more, and Fi analyzes the water in order to determine where to locate it.
A term such as “excellent” in and of itself would indicate excitement beyond a simple computer program, but it’s the punctuation used here that has the most significance. Those ellipses imply a significant pause in one’s speech, often lasting several moments beyond what would normally be reserved for a comma. Most frequently it is used to indicate an unfinished thought, or one that is meant to be finished by another person. But it’s also used to represent deep thought as someone is trying to figure something out or come to grips with a situation. And it’s in this latter application that Fi uses ellipses a lot.
When you first interact with Fi and draw the Goddess Blade from its pedestal, Fi “officially” registers you as the one destined to wield the blade, and by extension, her master.
There’s a significant pause here as Fi comes to grips with the reality that she is now not just beholden to the Goddess Hylia but to this unknown child as well. She obviously knew that this would be part of her duty, but now that it is upon her, it takes her a few moments to come to terms with her new reality.
A significant number of those contemplative pauses come specifically in reaction to other people. One of the more humorous incidents occurs as you are searching for a Party Wheel dropped through the clouds by a man who is, quite literally, a clown. Fi notices it too but doesn’t appear to have that word in her vocabulary. Instead, she gives her honest opinion, and at the same time is coming to grips with a very new piece of information about the world around her:
“I have identified the item that the… highly unusual man on Fun Fun Island says was lost.”
Despite having an encyclopedic knowledge of Hyrule, Fi could not fathom a person having such eccentric tastes and appears to be having difficulty processing it. Of all the things that she knows, it turns out that people and their dispositions are where she is lacking. Her most notable pauses appear to occur as she is trying to come to grips with how people function. She is still trying to understand it as she meets Zelda for the first time and struggles to correctly identify her:
“Hylia, Your Grace… or perhaps you prefer Zelda.”
What seems to impress Fi the most is the strength and determination of others. It’s most easily seen as you defeat the pirate captain LD-002G Scervo on the Sandship. The ship and the captain had been on the seas for centuries, yet both were fully functioning. After a difficult sword fight, Fi draws that conclusion, again with those ellipses:
“Master, that synthetic life form… There is a 99% chance that it was the pirate described by the captain. I can’t help but admire the tenacity it has displayed in staying alive and functional all these years.”
But perhaps the most obvious is Scrapper, whose infatuation with Fi is mind-boggling not just to us, but to Fi herself, who uses three full ellipses to try to figure out just what it is this little robot is trying to get across.
She still is unable to process it and must resign to simply moving on with the current objective.
The Relationship that Matters Most
Relationships are where Fi has the least amount of information and are where she is learning the most. None more so than with the one she spends all of her time with. Perhaps the greatest hole in Skyward Sword’s narrative is that lack of bonding scenes like the ones we got with Tatl or Midna. But those moments are still there, buried in the action and descriptions. That realization that Link is now her master, the nod of the head, even just a simple “Well done, Master,” acknowledging Link’s effort and accomplishments.
And she plays a critical role in those accomplishments. Your search in finding Zelda and then the Triforce means working hand-in-hand with her as you play assorted songs on your harp. Even more significant is the fact that she is almost always in your hand. As much as we abhor her incessant popping out to give us directions, what it does is constantly remind us that Fi is one with our sword, the item we used more than any other. In nearly every danger she is right there with us, and when we must venture forth on our own, she is “eagerly awaiting [our] return in the outside world.”
She’s even at the very end when Demise has been revived. When the soul of Zelda and the fate of the entire world is resting entirely on your shoulders, Fi is there to bear the load with you, as both your blade and your support.
The Blade and Soul Forged
And so we come to the final parting; the moment when all that growth and learning comes to the surface. We may not have noticed what was happening, but Fi was carefully observing our fight, and the people we were helping along the way. And she was growing as a result; learning what it meant to be a hero herself and taking pride in the efforts that she and Link were making together.
Oddly enough, this whole meticulous explanation is exactly what Fi herself states as she leaves her parting words with us:
“Link, hear me. My purpose was to obey the command of the goddess and lead you, the chosen hero of the land, on your quest. When I first awoke and began this task, I perceived it as merely serving my function as a servant to Her Grace. However, I have come to consider the information corresponding to our time together among the most precious data I have on record. I do not have the capability to fully understand the human spirit, Link… But now, at the end of my journey with you, as I prepare to sleep within the Master Sword forever, I experience a feeling I am unable to identify. I lack sufficient data to be sure of my conclusion, but I believe this feeling correlates closest to what your people call…happiness.”
That growth and that happiness are what draw such an emotional response. As much as we found her irksome at times, this is our sword, our blade; our partner. And during this time we got to spend with her, she learned and grew the same as we did. As stated in the game, our forging of the blade was not just tempering it with a holy flame, but strengthening our bond with it, imbuing it with a spirit that knew firsthand what it meant to be a hero. Fi understood the significance of that and was eternally grateful for everything it implied. Thus, her final words, spoken by so many before, and by so many who would follow, were truly words from our constant companion:
