Chapter Two:
Choices
(Samskara)
He had noticed that she liked to walk among the people from time to time—camouflaged, of course, as one of them. Some of the citizens must have seen through her disguise, those older and wiser bowing to her while indulging her fantasy, but most of them simply passed her by, too busy with their own lives to pay her any mind.
He couldn't help watching her whenever he caught sight of her, the familiar anger stirring in his chest dully, though he no longer had the will to act on it. Truly, her common clothes and the scarf wrapped around her head did little to hide the regal intensity of her brilliant blue eyes or the perfection of her flawless ivory skin, and he laughed inwardly at her naive attempts to hide herself. Her curiosity drove her, he knew, that drive to understand and learn—and by learning becoming wise. The pattern never changed, only the details.
The square was crowded; musicians, children, lovers and the elderly alike wading through the tangled mass of people, but she immediately stood out despite her slight form. He caught sight of her as he was bringing an empty box out to the front stoop of his shop, stacking it next to the others he had emptied that morning. The store was nearly completed, though he was unable to feel even the slightest satisfaction at the accomplishment. A subtle dread had settled in his mind ever since his decision to stay in the capitol, as if the decision was the first step on his path to submission; by deciding to pay attention again to the world around him, he had allowed fate to interfere with his life and begin slowly pushing him toward his cruel destiny.
She noticed him watching her—as she had noticed when she had come to the square the day before—and he smiled grimly, knowing that she was drawn to him in the same way that their souls were always drawn together generation after generation. Though she had no way of understanding the strange attraction between them, her insatiable curiosity wouldn't allow her to simply ignore it.
Gently parting the waves of people with her presence, she began making her way toward him.
Doran crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a post supporting the roof, waiting to see what kind of amusement she would offer today. She encountered a shady character before she could break free of the press of people, and he immediately caught the furtive movement of the man's hand toward the coin purse secured at her belt. Exclaiming loudly in protest, she boldly caught the thief's arm and tried to pull him backward. Her efforts held him back for a moment as she threw all of her weight into the exertion, grasping desperately at him as he tried to twist away.
She couldn't have wanted for the money. It must have been the injustice that inspired her rage. Doran watched her struggle without emotion, his smile widening when he saw her look back in his direction again in a plea for aid.
Finally, the thief escaped with her purse, and she threw her arms up in frustration, glaring at the unseeing crowd around her. He imagined that she was enraged more by the way her citizens turned a blind eye on a person in trouble than by the loss of a few rupees. Shaking his head, he turned away from the tableau and began stacking more boxes. She was wise to recognize her people's complacency as a flaw, but he doubted that she would do anything more productive to right the wrong than her ancestors had done before her.
He should have known that she would target him with the full force of her outrage, but he attempted to ignore her huff of annoyance and attempt at an imposing figure when she planted her hands on shapely hips and furrowed her pale brows. "You saw everything!" she snapped at him. "I saw you watching it all, but you did nothing! You just stood there and laughed at a woman in need!"
Chuckling under his breath and depositing another box at the top of the stack, he dusted off his hands and replied, "It's not my fault that you're weak."
Her slender shoulders tensed and her eyes spit blue fire. "How dare you?"
Though he had no desire to interact with her, he had to admit that her outrage amused him more than anything else had managed to do in recent memory. "Perhaps you should whine to your brother instead, Princess. He will soon be in a better position to do something about that thief than I am."
"My brother is a fool," she scoffed. "And if you recognize me for who I am, then you have even less justification for ignoring my plight."
He was surprised to hear that she was aware of her brother's unsuitability for the throne, though he wondered what, if anything, she would do to oppose it. In the short time that he had been in the city, he had already heard dozens of stories about the king-to-be's raucous parties and lazy disposition. "A princess wandering about a dangerous city unprotected gets what she is asking for," he said succinctly as he turned back into his shop.
"What is your name?" she demanded as she followed him inside, leather soles slapping against the polished wooden floor with flippant steps.
"Why do you want to know?" He hefted another box with a wry smile. "Do you intend to have me arrested? I would remind you that if you are going to arrest me on the basis of my inaction, you should rightfully imprison half of the crowd out there as well. You have no right to single me out simply because I am not so cowardly as to avert my eyes like the rest of them."
"If it wasn't cowardice that held you back, then why else would you refuse to come to my aid?"
"Do I need a reason? I am not a soldier and I have no obligation to defend you against thieves."
Standing squarely in the doorway, she blocked his path and said with narrowed eyes, "You are a foreigner living in our city. I would think that you would appreciate our kindness in letting you set up shop here. You may not have an obligation to defend me, but I would think that you would not want to put your welcome here in jeopardy."
"Is that a threat?" His eyebrow raised and anger flared hotly in his chest at her presumption. "I would have thought someone as noble as you to be above such shallow biases."
A blush colored her cheeks and her jaw clenched.
He moved toward the door again and she stumbled aside numbly before he had to push her, a stunned expression on her face as she stared at an unremarkable smudge on the floor. She was still standing in the same spot when he returned, her brows drawn together into a regal frown.
"If you are finished haranguing me, I would suggest that you find an escort and return to the castle before you are further inconvenienced by the dregs of society."
She flinched. "I apologize for my rudeness," she said in a fragile voice. "I overreacted. You have done nothing wrong, and I have no right to punish you for the failings of others."
Leaning back against the counter and regarding her, he crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips, savoring the irony of the moment. Her naiveté was not surprising, though it seemed that her arrogant air of superiority had more to do with her upbringing than her personal inclinations; unless the wheel had taken a drastic turn this time around, she was not the type to judge someone based solely upon appearance.
She seemed to be waiting for a response—perhaps for an acceptance of her apology—but he had no desire to ease her discomfort. Watching him in awkward silence, she drew a slow breath and glanced back at the open door and the slanting afternoon light that poured in through the opening.
"It will be dark soon," he said coldly. "You should leave if you want to make it back to the castle before nightfall."
Nodding reluctantly, she cast a worried glance back at him before turning to walk stiffly through the door. The realization that he had no intention of relieving her guilt seemed to weigh heavily on her narrow shoulders, and the satisfaction was enough to warm the embers of his long frozen heart. She stepped back into the square with a watchfulness in her posture that had been absent before, and she navigated the vortex of people with nothing of her previous regal air.
Turning to go back into his shop, he frowned when he saw a large man step out of the shadows and begin to follow her, a dark insignia woven into his cloak that Doran recognized as the emblem of an obscure cult native to the region north of the capitol. The man had an ill-favored aura, and it didn't take much stretch of the imagination for Doran to conclude that he was an assassin sent by the disgruntled ruler from that realm.
Hesitating on the threshold of his shop, he watched the dark man melt into the crowd behind her like an ominous shadow. If the assassin was successful, then he could be certain that the impending doom he felt gathering would not have to involve him. But the words of the oracle he had encountered on his recent journey came back to him clearly despite his frequent attempts to forget her words.
"I have the answers you seek, traveler!" the old woman cried, piercing golden eyes flashing from beneath her deep cowl.
He barely paused in his progress down the street, but her next words caused his boots to root to the ground without his notice.
"You are bound by a destructive cycle, chained to the wheel of samsara. You wish to break free," she continued, blinking fervently up at him from a mass of wrinkles, the hot sun revealing her hidden face as she peered up at him. "I know how! I know how to stop the wheel from turning!"
"How to escape the cycle?" he repeated with a dark chuckle. "That is impossible."
"You already understand that winning is not the answer. You have won before...for a time. But it never lasted in the end. The answer has nothing to do with triumph or defeat."
Shaking his head, he turned away and began to pace down the street again.
"The triforce is losing its power," she stated suddenly, shocking him so much that he spun around to face her. "The cycle cannot continue any longer. Something must change, or this world will die. You have seen the slow decay. Each generation is born weaker than the one before, and your precious desert claims more land every year. Your triumph is happening before your eyes, but it is not yours to claim. Victory is meaningless if it leaves nothing alive to endure it."
He came to a stop in the dirty street again and gave her his full attention at that. "What is the answer, then, sage?"
"The triforce must be reunited."
A guffaw escaped his mouth before he retorted, "That has happened already—countless times. In the end it has never made any real difference."
"In order for the triforce to be truly reunited, it must be free of its hosts. Between cycles, the forces of wisdom and courage roam freely, existing as pure energy unconfined to any one being. But the force of power is always constrained by the one person who has never been reborn."
"Are you saying I must die?"
Her smile sent shivers down his spine. "You must balance the scales and atone for your sins."
He had not wanted to understand what those words meant at the time, but he felt the power within him rising now as he watched the dark man disappear around the corner behind Zelda. The path the triforce wanted him to take was clear--but it rankled. And yet, he was so very weary of the cycle. He wanted so badly to break free that even his pride could not stand in his way any longer.
He could stand by and watch a thief take advantage of her, but an assassination was another matter entirely. The broadsword was in his hand and he was parting the crowd with his angry presence before he realized that he had submitted to the will of the power within him. Fate demanded that he act; playing the role of a bystander had never settled well with him, but it had been the only way he had known to avoid the painful repetition of events. But if action was required, then perhaps he could only unravel the cycle by working counter to the pull of destiny and reversing the pattern.
His long strides brought him around the corner in time to see the assassin pull a knife from his belt. Zelda was looking away as the man approached her, but Doran was able to dart through the crowd from the opposite side and pull her out of the way before the assassin could land his blade in her back. A cry escaped her lips and she gazed up at him with wide eyes when she saw the sword in his hand.
Doran felt the power within him stirring as it sensed the fragment of the triforce within Zelda and he crushed her against him compulsively when she began to panic, not willing to risk her doing anything rash until the danger was dealt with.
The assassin gaped at him in shock for a moment, the blade still naked in his hand and Doran raised his own blade between Zelda and the man. "You have made a fatal error," he said darkly as he glared at the man.
A woman in the crowd shrieked suddenly and the throng backed away from them in a rush, finally drawing the attention of the soldiers down the street. Casting uncertain glances at the fearful gazes around him, the assassin sheathed his knife and took off at a run. Doran did not ease his grip on Zelda's waist until the man was out of sight with a handful of soldiers hot on his heels.
"Princess," one of the soldiers said with a doubtful glare at Doran, hanging back to ensure her safety. "Are you all right?"
She nodded, her skin ghostly pale as she said, "I think so." Brushing herself off when Doran released her, she looked up at him with a confused mess of emotion in her eyes. "You saved my life," she said faintly. "Thank you."
Doran chuckled wryly. "I need your thanks even less than your apology, Princess." Sheathing his sword, he turned away. "But do try to be more careful on your way back to the castle."
"Please," she cried. "Who are you?"
"I'm no one," he replied. "A stranger."
"Do I not even get a name?"
"Doran," he said finally. "You can call me Doran." That was the name he had chosen for himself when he had decided not to pursue his old habits—when he had chosen to do whatever he could to break the endless ritual.
He felt her watching him as he walked away, and he closed his eyes briefly, wondering exactly what he had set in motion by saving her. The threads of fate tugged at him furiously, trying to realign the cycle to its fated pattern, and yet he could feel the triforce of power burning inside of him with an odd sort of satisfaction he had never experienced before. He knew that had made the first step, but the road would be long.