This was actually the opening of chapter Twenty Eight in Matters of the State, but it kind of evolved into its own little biography of the character. So I went with this instead. Look forwards to two more chapters featuring the other two oracles from the GBA Oracle Games.

The background information concerning how oracles are selected and the laws that bind them are outlined in MotS, if you like this but want something more story-like, why not check it out?

Oracles

I Am Farore

I still remember years ago when my Mentor found me. Everyone in the town thought he was a bit strange, he had a large nose and hair like goose-down. He looked like a grandfather but he never married. No one knew where he lived and many times mothers shooed their children away when he came walking down the street.

It's strange, I don't remember anything about my parents, but that one cold afternoon in autumn, I can still remember the bright green of his coat, and the funny red shoes he wore when he came up to me. I didn't feel anything when he started speaking to me. I wasn't afraid or curious or anything. I was just sitting there like I always did, looking out across the town from the clock tower.

Back then, I never felt anything. Whenever people asked me what I felt, I told them there was nothing there. I didn't feel empty, there was just nothing to comment on. Other children would shout at me to try and scare me, but it didn't work. Others would hit me to see if I'd cry, but I didn't even though it hurt physically. Every time someone expected me to laugh or yell, I always felt this tiny, biting pain in my chest, right next to my heart. That pain would stay there and make it hard for me to breathe, before whoever was doing things to me stopped and went away. I hated it when people made me try to feel, the emotions wouldn't come, and my chest would ache so badly I thought I would be bruised from it.

I didn't get mad when people refused to talk to me, threatened when those who did speak to me tried to intimidate me. If they didn't answer my questions when I asked them, I left them alone. I didn't try to make friends, no one wanted to make friends with a little girl who didn't feel. Most children cry when they lose their families, I didn't even cry before that happened.

I used to live in a house with two older women, one was old and the other was young, and she was always around this man with dark hair and they exchanged strange looks. They were the only people who ever spoke to me without fear before my mentor found me. I wasn't sad when he took me away from them though; it was like there was something inside of me that kept eating up all those emotions. I understood them in others, but I just couldn't feel them. I didn't know what was important enough to warrant tears or laughter.

He lived under the clock tower, which seemed strange to me since I'd spent so many days and nights sitting on top of it, and I'd never run into him. He was different from everyone else, when he spoke to me, he never asked how something made me feel, never mentioned emotion at all. Instead, if he asked a question it was to see if I knew the answer, something like, 'Do you know why Mister Cheveux is bald?'. When he told me something, it wasn't about how strange I was, or what feelings are about, it was always a secret of some sort, and he told me always to keep them safe.

'Don't tell anyone, don't tell anyone,' It became a mantra from him, 'Don't tell anyone your secrets, secrets are secret meant to be kept secret until it's time for them to be told.' Of course, when I asked him how he knew when it was time to reveal the truth, he just said, 'That's a secret'. He liked that word a lot, and he'd say it as many times as he could. Often times, he'd say it so much that after only a few minutes it would lose all meaning.

One of the secrets we shared was our names. He told me never to tell anyone my real name, and to choose a new one instead. It's been so long since my real name was used that I only remember it because I wrote it down. His real name is one I'll never reveal, but to hide the secret people called him Faron, the male form of the name Farore. He told me that in a far away land of Hyrule, Faron is also the name of a Light Spirit and a province. I didn't understand what a Province was at the time, and I've still never met a light spirit, but I took the name Farore anyways.

That was the secret that made me feel. Because after three years of living with him under the tower, he chose one winter night to take me into the small study he had in his home. He had taken ill all winter, and spring was only a few more days away, the snow was already melting.

He told me his name, and I started to cry. I was nine by that time and it was the first time I ever cried. Even now, I don't know why my eyes suddenly began to burn, and my heart ache with a pain that wasn't that hard bit that ate up everything else. He told me his name which is the dearest secret I know, he then gave me the thick green book he was always writing in, and an ivory pen of his with a small emerald nub.

He died three days later. Out of a sense of respect, I made sure some of his ashes were scattered in the forests just outside the boundaries of the town. He had two golden bangles around his wrists that no one ever saw because of his sleeves, but they were to big for me to wear. Instead, I grew my hair out, and using bits of ribbon I learned how to make them look like clasps.

I remember that first solitary night atop the clock tower, just a few hours after he finally died, watching the sunset with his wood-bound book in my lap. Up until that point, I hadn't opened it yet, but when the sun was still hanging just over the horizon, I finally made myself turn the first page. It read simply as:

The Book of Secrets

Don't tell anyone, don't tell anyone; don't tell anyone your secrets. Secrets are secret and must be kept secret until it's time for them to be told.

Every other page was blank, and I made sure of this by flipping through each one individually. I was perplexed by this, but did nothing about it. The book was not so large really although it was still thicker than my small hands at the time, and heavy besides. So I kept it with me in a small rucksack at all times. I don't quiet know why, I just did. It was as though he was still with me when I had his book. When I held it, it was as though I could feel something within it, like a soul. I knew it wasn't his though, his soul was different, he felt different, but this was something real too.

Every night for those lonely weeks, I can remember sitting atop the clock tower, just flipping through those empty pages. Sometimes, I felt the chilling need to write something, felt a thrumming sensation in the pen which I also kept with me always; tucked into a pouch at my belt, the same one he always used in life. But instead, I just sat there, watching sunsets and flipping empty pages.

I remember the first question I ever asked aloud…

"Why doesn't Mister Cheveux have hair..?"

Had I ever been a child of emotion, I perhaps would have either thrown the book from the tower, or fallen from my perch myself at what happened next. A brilliant emerald glow suddenly burst from the open pages before me, starting slowly and then growing in brilliance. It lasted only a moment however, but a normal person would have flung the book from themselves in surprise. I however, merely continued to sit there, vaguely questioning whether I should be wary of what was happening.

When the glow died, there was something on the pages before me. In the small, cramped script I recognized instantly as that of my Mentor, read the words:

When he first started losing his hair, he tried a lotion to make it grow back, but the lotion made it all fall out.

By asking a simple question, I learned the most valuable secret of my life; I learned how the Book of Secrets worked… And much more. I was able to look at it and ask any number of personal questions about people I knew in passing. And most of all I learned that it didn't know everything.

"What's my real name?"

Nothing.

"When were you made?"

Nothing. The book never answered any questions pertaining to itself, none save for one;

"What are you for?"

To mend the souls scored by black magic. An item of teaching and healing.

"How?"

Don't tell anyone, don't tell anyone; don't tell anyone your secrets. Secrets are secret and must be kept secret until it's time for them to be told.

That was when I took out the ivory pen my mentor had given me, with its emerald nub picking up the luminous rays of the mid-day sun. I had no ink, so I didn't intend for anything to happen, but as I touched the gemstone tip to the page, a tiny bead of green formed on the page. It was like no ink I'd ever seen before, not black, blue, or red, it didn't act like paint and seep through the fibers of the page, in fact, I could hardly tell what sort of paper the book was made from. The ink sparkled on the page like a tiny emerald as I held the nub there, not growing or moving at all, swirling in around itself like a tiny storm swell.

I had only a rudimentary knowledge of my letters at that point in my life, but somehow, it was as though the pen made for a much larger hand guided my strokes, and let me know how to form all the letters in the words I wanted to say. I put the words in plainly, without the bold descriptions and exclamations so many other entries had. I was almost afraid of ruining the magic of the book with my scribbles, but the pen pressed me onward. Once I had finished, I closed the book tightly.

And that was the first time I felt fear. I held that wood-bound book of green so tightly in my arms that they began to ache from the strain. The pain in my chest returned to me, but it was so faint compared to that which had plagued me my entire life.

When I opened the book again, all of the pages were clean. I took a deep breath, and spoke one last time:

"What is my real name?"

Your name is…

I am Farore, the Oracle of Secrets.
This isn't actually how chapter 28 was going, it was supposed to break off and go into the actual story, but I just expanded it to the extreme and cut out the parts following her becoming the Oracle.

In case you couldn't tell, Faron was the former Oracle of Secrets.