Wise in Our Own Ways-Rauru: Reflections of an Elder

Author's Notes:  A sequel to The Shattered.  Takes place after Link has died, and the sages are left to reflect on the choices they made and their hand in Link's demise.  Each chapter keys in on the thoughts of on particular sage as they stand around the altar on which Link's body had been rested.  The characters are dictated in order of importance, depending on how you look at them.  I hope you enjoy it; I know I did writing it.

Warnings:  Heavy angst, death, and theme.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own Rauru, or any of the other characters in Zelda.

Wise in Our Own Ways

Rauru: Reflections of a Elder

Perhaps I did push the boy the little too hard, forcing everything on his head so soon after his awakening.  Then again, what was I to do?  My power was failing, the final seal was breaking, and my people were dying.  Besides, the boy was the Hero of Time, was he not?  He was perfection at its finest, steeled for warfare, and his fate forged by destiny and the Goddesses.

Fate…that word should have a new meaning for me now. My whole life, I took it for granted, looked at it as a simple flow of ill-desired providence, never once thinking of how it affected me.

I look back now, and suddenly I feel so very old, far too old.  I've seen so much anguish in my years, and I've lost friends so often that I count what I have now as few.  In fact, rarely do I become close to others, even my fellow sages.  Too easily are they lost in the wake of evil, and far too often does evil rear its ugly head.

But Link…I never considered the possibility of his demise, especially by his own hand.  I suppose I was too caught up in the business of saving the lives of the others and…myself.  Rather then think about the boy, I thought selfishly of myself, and now it's his blood on my hands.

As I stand before the other sages, my eyes desperately trying to hold back the river of tears that threatens to escape its dam, I can't help but think about how had we just given Link the chance, we could have possibly saved his life.  Then again, perhaps we couldn't have.  Perhaps the boy's pain was beyond our reach, away from my reach.  Perhaps this was a decision fate had in store for him a long time ago. 

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps!  I'm asking too many darn questions of myself!  There are far too many variables in this situation; how could I have possibly known it was coming?  Why is it that I'm blaming myself in this matter?

Because I should have seen this coming, yet I never moved a finger to stop it.   Nope, not even a simple guiding hand did we offer the boy in his misery.  His suffering we remained ignorant of, and we refused to acknowledge that our hero was dying, both in spirit and body.

And now we are paying for it.  Slowly, but surely, the once blinding strokes of fate and fortune are becoming clear to us as we gaze upon our fallen warrior, our eyes brimming with stubborn tears. 

Oh yes, those stubborn tears whose lamenting waters we cannot allow to touch our cheeks, for if we do, we will be admitting to murder.

For hundreds of years I watched the sages, including those I loved, shrivel and die before my eyes, and I have watched the death of thousands of Hyrulians, young and the old, perish at the hands of evil such as Ganondorf.  Through it all I never once thought to blame myself, never once felt so dirty and old. I figured that Din, Farore, and Nayru, in their divine beauty and wisdom, would lead the good to conquer once again.

However, for once the stains on my hands can't seem to wash off, and somehow my faith in the goddesses has shifted to a looser standing.

And for once, this old man's not sure if he can hold back the tears.

Part 1, next chapter: Nabooru: Through the Eyes of a Warrior.    Please read and review.