I started writing this story after finishing Deadlocked, which is why you will see the hundred year time frame being used. You can ignore everything that happened in the last book.

All events are assumed to be canon, except that Sookie did not find the fairy charm - which I describe differently than CH - and therefore did not use it to save Sam. For the purposes of this story, Eric married Freyda as per the terms of the original contract and now resides in Oklahoma.

Wisdom will be approximately twenty one chapters in length, the first seven of which are written and edited. The next seven are written in rough draft and only need editing. The last seven are plotted out, but not yet written. By the time the first lot are posted, I should have the last chapters ready to go.

As always, I own nothing. Charlaine Harris owns the rights to all recognizable characters.

With great age comes great wisdom.

I can't remember where I first heard those words, but no truer words have ever been spoken.

Trust me. I am old. And I think I've finally earned the right to claim wisdom. Or at the very least, I have wised up so very much over all these years. I'm not the naive, scared little girl I used to be. The thing they don't like to tell you about that wisdom, however, is that it is lost on the elderly. We have the tools to make the right decisions, but it's usually too damned late to make a difference. It's a bit of a curse, really, this wisdom. Being wise enough to know when you've messed up big time is great, but being too damned old to do anything about?

I'm here to tell you that it sucks. There's no part of getting old that doesn't suck.

The worst part would be watching everyone I know and hold dear die all around me, some way too soon. It's terribly ironic, isn't it? It was the main reason I chose not to become a vampire, even though I knew it was an option. I always thought how hard it would be to live on, and see your friends and family die off around you. Ironic, considering that as a human, I endured the same fate. I am more alone in this world now than I ever have been.

Sawyer, my son. Jason, my brother, Tommy, my nephew. Hunter, my cousin. Sam, Amelia, Alcide. All gone, some way before their time.

I doubt it could have hurt any more if I had been vampire.

Of course, if I had become a vampire, Sawyer would never have become my son. The pain accompanying that thought told me I'd made the right decision at the time. I loved him with every fiber of my being, and nothing, no sacrifice, would have been enough for him. He was four, almost five, when he came to live with me, such a small boy, but such a brave little man, too. The years I spent mothering, loving and teaching him were ones I wouldn't trade for all the world, even though his world came to an abrupt and tragic end, way too early.

It very nearly killed me when he died. I might have given up completely if it weren't for Pam. It was she who pulled me from the funk I had been living in and convinced me it was time to move home. Yes, Pam. We've remained close through the years, more so than I ever would have thought possible. Our friendship these last five decades has been based on mutual respect and affection. She's been the rock I leaned on, and I had provided the same service in return. I never expected my best friend to be a vampire, nor had I ever expected our friendship would last well into my twilight years. I laughed a little, thinking back on our early days. Had anyone told either Pam or myself that we would be roomies in my feeble old age, I'm sure I would have laughed until I peed my pants. Pam? She might have drained whoever had the gall to suggest such a horrid notion. But here I am, closing up the old Bon Temps farmhouse to live at her house. I thought back on the day she first brought it up, my mouth twitching with humour just thinking about it.

"I think it is time for you to think about not living alone anymore, Sookie." Pam tucked the blanket on my lap tighter around my legs. She'd come to Bon Temps that evening to talk to Dr. Ludwig - yes, the old bat is still alive and kicking! - with me. My blood pressure was becoming an issue again, and I had suffered through a mini-stroke the previous fall. My human doctor had written off my symptoms to old age, and that was simply not good enough for my vampire BFF. Pam insisted on the appointment with Dr. Ludwig so she could hear for herself my diagnosis and prognosis. Ludwig had concurred with my human doctor, and agreed the course of meds I was taking were the best option for now. Unfortunately, the meds were causing dizzy spells and weakness, a dangerous combination for an almost eighty year old woman living alone in the country. I reluctantly agreed, even though I knew there was some chance I'd run into other vampires from time to time if I was living there.

It's not like I disliked being around vampires, not at all. In fact, I've met a few of Pam's friends through the years that I've quite liked and admired. But I've tried to keep my distance as much as possible.

I got pretty lucky with the vampires after the Oklahoma situation was resolved. Nevada requested, and was granted, use of my services through my new bodyguard and booking agent, Pam. I made many trips to Las Vegas and Pam and I naturally turned to each other for friendship and support. She kept me safe when I was forced to work for vampires, but it was also her quick thinking that got me finally off their radar.

Long story short, I got myself in a terrible car wreck coming home from a late night vampire assignment and ended up with pretty serious head trauma. For a while my telepathy disappeared and Pam took it upon herself to inform the powers that be that the telepath had lost her power. We simply kept it the best kept secret ever when it returned stronger than ever a few months later. I've avoided vampires ever since because I didn't want to inadvertently let it slip that my powers were still intact. Eventually, I fell off the radar all together, and took that chance and fled, aided by my fairy inheritance.

What can I say? It was the best decision I had ever made. After travelling for a few months, I choose to settle in Newfoundland, a small Canadian province, and after a few years, it felt like home. There were very few vampires there, even though the nights were longer that far north. I enrolled in university and eventually earned my degree in childhood psychology and immediately set up practice. The work was extremely gratifying and I finally felt as if my life was on the right track.

It was through my psychology practice that Sawyer first came to my attention, and just a short year after meeting him, he was living with me and asking to call me mom. Sawyer was a strong empath, with limited telepathic abilities. Unlike me, he had to be touching a person in order to pick up anything. Any physical contact was still very difficult for him then, not that it got much easier through the years. His birth mother couldn't handle what was obvious from a very young age, and he was condemned to a life within the child welfare services. By the time I met him, Sawyer had been placed in twelve different homes in his short life, with no foster parent able to handle what came with him.

It was in his memory that the Stackhouse Institute was conceived. Returning to Bon Temps after his death had been the change I needed - the political situation with the vampires was finally smooth and easy sailing, with friendly monarchs in all the states that mattered - but I wasn't about to give up the career I was so proud of, not when I knew how many children I could help. In Canada my practice was mostly limited to human children, but I knew how many supernaturals called the south home.

A late night conversation with Pam solidified my plan to open a supe-only practice in Sawyer's memory. Of course, I didn't foresee it becoming what it is today, a residential therapy centre for supe kids, most of whom came by their "otherness" through unknown means, and were abandoned in childhood, much like my darling Sawyer had been. The Stackhouse Institute is now housed in the fully restored Compton estate, donated by none other than Bill Compton himself.

I always imagined Bill had gotten over me, or at least moved on through the years, but it turned out to not be the case. By the time I returned to Bon Temps, I still looked good, sure, but I had aged. Bill said he didn't care. Even though I tried to let him down as gently as I could - I had long since decided that what we had way back when wasn't love - but he pursued me for over a year before finally getting it through his head that it just wasn't going to happen. He left Louisiana not long after, his lawyers informing me after the fact that the house was deeded to me, on the condition it be used to expand my practice.

Of course, the Institute bearing my name is no longer being run by me, but instead is managed by a team handpicked by me. The entire staff is supernatural, mainly Weres and shifters, and all had been with us for a number of years. I had ceased patient counselling many years ago now, and took a step back from the managerial side two years later. Walking away had been a challenge, but after nearly forty years of practice, I knew it was time.

So why, after all these years and all this time has passed, have I decided to tell my story again? I wish I had an answer for you, but I don't, other than to say that everything has unexpectedly turned ass over tea kettle, and I feel I must document what is happening in this stage of my life.

You see, although I am what many of you would call old as dirt, it's not how I see myself. It's a very long story to catch you all up on, but it all started the night before my eightieth birthday.

At my age, every day was a long one, but it was after midnight and this day had been especially tiring. I'd decided it was time to stop procrastinating and finally close up the old farmhouse. It would be put to much better use as over-flow housing for the Institute staff than left as it had been the last year or so since I started staying with Pam. It had been a gradual transition of my life in Bon Temps shifting to full time living in Shreveport, but I finally couldn't avoid making decisions about my home.

I spent the majority of the morning at the old farmhouse packing the few things I wanted to keep, even though most sentimental items had already made their trek to my new home. The rest of the day had been spent with hired help, sorting through all the rest for charity or to stay with the house. It was a couple of hours after Pam arrived to help finish up and get me home when it happened.

"Ma'am? We found this box upstairs behind the eve. It looks pretty old, and it's been sealed. Perhaps you might want to take this with you and get it opened later?" Jim, one of the hired men, passed me a small, very antique looking box, much like a fancy jewellery box. Even as dusty as it was, the engraving was clearly very detailed and elegant. I was sure I had never seen it before.

"Thank you. I'll take it." I reached my hand out for it and the moment it was in my hands, a feeling went through me that I could only describe as a tingle, yet that's not what it was. Decades of practice with schooling my facial expressions served me well in that moment, my face not registering a flicker at the sensation the box was invoking.

I couldn't explain it, or even understand it, but I really, really didn't want to let it out of my hands. Reluctantly, I tucked it inside my purse for inspection later. It was getting late, and we were just about ready to head back on the long drive to Shreveport.

The second big moment seemed almost inconsequential at first, as caught up in the engraved box as I was. But when I turned to see the other bundle Jim had for me, a cold flash of recognition flooded through me and I wasn't as quick offering my hand to accept. I knew what that box was, and I remembered the exact day I had stashed it in the furthest corner of the attic.

Eric had been gone for exactly a year, and on the first anniversary of our last night together, I had allowed myself to wallow in merlot and self-pity. I spent the night reminiscing and looking through the contents of my "Eric Box", an old shoe box stuffed mementos of our relationship. I spent too much time reading the bundle of letters and notes he'd left for me, or sent me, through the years I had known him.

I cried myself to sleep wearing one of his shirts with his letters clutched to me, my fingers closed tightly around the bullets I had sucked out of his body. I woke too early the next morning with sore, puffy eyes and a red wine hangover. A long, hot shower and a cup of coffee and I was ready to put it away, resolving to never look at it again.

But here it was, still wrapped tightly in the duct tape I had wrapped firmly around it as a further deterrent to my younger self. I could see the bold, square lettering I used when I Magic Markered my name and "PRIVATE" across the front. When I didn't respond, Pam gave me an odd glance before taking the box and adding it to the small pile she had to bring to the car. She didn't ask, and I didn't say, but I think she somehow knew the box was connected to Eric. I was grateful still for the "No Eric Talk" clause in our friendship agreement. We hadn't spoken of him in many, many decades and I wasn't about to break that streak right now.

Still, when I went to my room later, I noticed she had made a neat pile of my belongings in the corner of my room and very notably placed the duct-taped box front and centre. I sat my weary bones on my bed and stared at that box for a long time before shaking myself out of it and getting a shower. It was late and I was very tired, even though I knew I wouldn't sleep much. I never did anymore. Just another fun fact about getting old.

Moving my purse from the bed, I remembered the mysterious engraved box and decide to have a better look. Perhaps I could open it and see if there was anything inside. As soon as I held it in my hands again, I could feel it; the awareness was absolute. I could feel a connection to that box in my very cells.

It didn't appear to have a locking mechanism, and there was an obvious seam indicating it should open. I got a damp washcloth and set about wiping decades of accumulated dust and dirt from it, revealing more of the intricate woodwork and the tight seam. When it was as clean as I could get it, I pressed around the seam to find the loosest spot and gently inserted the tip of my nail file. To my surprise, the top popped immediately and I was left staring at the most beautiful, intricate piece of jewelry I had ever seen.

The green jewel in the center of the piece was almost luminescent to my eyes, appearing to light from within. This impression only solidified in my mind when I picked it up and the otherworldly glow was more evident against my palm. About the size of a walnut, it had smooth, polished edges. It was set in what I thought was probably platinum, with intricate engraving all over. I'd need my glasses to see it better, but it looked like fancy scrollwork to me. It was stunning.

What was it? Just as the box it was housed in, I had never seen either in my life. My instincts were telling me it was a Fae piece, but I had no way of knowing for sure. All I can tell you is that it felt warm, peaceful and serene in my hand, and it didn't take long for me to realize I was actually being soothed by the piece and its unusual glow.

I'm not sure how long I sat there with it in my hand, but it's heading for three in the morning and I'm back to staring at the box in the corner, but this time it doesn't seem as ominous as it had earlier this evening.

A tired as I was, I awkwardly lowered myself to the floor next to the box and, with the jewel in my pocket and scissors in hand, I started to make quick work of the decades old duct tape surrounding the box. Once access was granted, I methodically removed every item, spreading them out in a circle around me. I was literally surrounded by my past with Eric and I was suddenly wondering why I had worked so hard to eradicate him from my life, my mind and my heart.

I stared at each item in turn, taking my time and thinking about what each piece meant to me and why it had found its way into the box at all. Some things were obvious, like the tidy bundle of letters tied tightly with a blue ribbon, the color of which always reminded me of his eyes. A Fangtasia t-shirt he'd given me, as well as one of his he'd left there at some point. Ticket stubs for the few movies and shows we managed to see together. The cork for the bottle of wine he had brought me one night. All the silly little things that young girls in love keep as souvenirs.

The bullets at the bottom of the box were obvious, too, only I really couldn't account for why I had kept them in the first place. It's not like I considered that moment a highlight of our relationship, but yet, I could so clearly remember my fingers scrambling on the floor, scooping up those bloody bullets and shoving them so quickly into my pocket that even he didn't notice my surreptitious movements. Obviously, they had meant something to me in that moment. I wasn't the kind of girl to want to handle bloody bullets, let alone hide them in my pocket. But I did, and I could also remember deliberately not thinking about them when I got home from Dallas all those years ago, simply tucking them into the back of a drawer, where they sat for a long time until before being moved into the box.

Looking at them now, I could still see traces of Eric's blood on them and my throat tightened as my hand reached for the one closest. I looked at it for long moments before slowly raising it to my nose, letting the slightly metallic scent fill my nostrils. If there were truly any of his scent left, supernatural senses would be necessary to detect it. My human nose wasn't picking up any scent my memory associated with him. I held those bullets for a long time, thinking back on the early days of my association with the vampire.

My memory had thankfully not faded too badly with age, and I could look back at the history between us with a more objective eye than my twenty seven year old self ever could have. I had a lifetime of experience to draw on, not to mention decades spent studying and practising psychology. It was easier than I ever would have imagined to look at the repressed spectre of our doomed love affair with a dispassionate, rational attitude.

Slipping the bullets into my robe pocket, nestling them next to the mysterious green stone, I picked up the bundle of letters and slowly slipped the ribbon free. The letters, yellowed slightly with age, felt familiar in my hands. I laid them down next to me and slipped a random note out from the middle of the pile. With a deep breath, I unfolded the paper and read the contents, letting my breath out in a whoosh as I started to read.

There was nothing to be afraid of here. This was my past, it was time to face it. I had certainly made it a point to come to peace with everything else in life. Eric, the one and only love of my life, I kept in a metaphorical box, wrapped tighter than duct tape could ever have managed.

It was true. I had loved him, although not as openly or fully as I should have. He was the only man I had ever loved. What I felt for Bill was no more than girlish infatuation, enhanced by the welcome silence of his mind and the influence of his blood. I had long ago examined that relationship, deemed it unworthy and put it away.

And no other man ever measured up. I dated. Not frequently, and not with any long lasting success, but I have known some smaller measures of affection and happiness through the years. But they just didn't, couldn't measure up to Eric Northman. Or I didn't let them measure up. Whatever. It doesn't alter the fact that I spent the bulk of my surprisingly long life alone and single, because no relationship ever lived up to the one I fought the hardest against. The irony of it all isn't lost on me.

What was lost on me was a man, vampire, whatever, like him. I was too young, too immature to handle him. Eric himself tried to warn me; "I'm too big for some," he had said. His comment could have been taken many ways, after all, he's a big man in every single way that counts. But I knew he was trying to tell me something more important about himself in that quietly uttered statement. I can recall with complete clarity the slight panic rising through me as I replied, with as much bravado and false confidence I could muster, "Bring it on!" If I had only known then what I know now.

Pam had been right all those years ago, and I had been too young, stupid, proud and contrary to accept it. I had never given Eric a break, never trusted him as fully as I should have. I never cut him the breaks I was oh, so willing to give everybody else. I cringed a little at how unfair I was with him. If I had given him half the benefit of the doubt I had given Bill time and again, well...

Truth was, I had expected him to make almost every compromise in our relationship. Granted, I was too young and immature to be what was necessary to make a relationship like that work, the give and take that would be needed. But I don't think I even tried very hard. I never expected it to last, so I never tried very hard to make it work, make it last.

I never tried at all, if I were to be brutally honest. I pushed him away at every turn, expecting him to be there to pick up the pieces of my messes, but never giving him much appreciation in return. God knows, it was hard enough to admit I loved him in those days. I certainly didn't tell him often enough.

I sighed as I held the last of the letters in my hand. It was just a silly note, a small joke and an incongruous vampire smiley face. I couldn't really remember when I had received it, and that kind of bothered me. I should remember, because while I can see now that I treasured each and every note he wrote, it was these silly, inconsequential little notes that held the most meaning. He had nothing important to tell me, no high-handed instructions to leave for me. These notes were written simply because he thought of me, nothing more, nothing less.

Did I ever really understand that back then? Did I ever see the dozens of ways he tried to show me he could be the man I wanted? I don't think I did. I don't think I wanted to. I was never sure enough of myself to be sure of him. I didn't think it would be his marriage to a vampire queen that would tear us apart, but I was always positive something would.

I suppose in some ways it is maybe for the best that the end came in such a dramatic, forced way. It at least allows an old woman to take comfort in the idea that her lover didn't tire of her, but was literally forced from her side. I didn't have to face the inevitable loss of interest as I grew old. I smiled at the idea of the great Eric Northman finding my old body sexy. I had aged very well through the years, but there was no denying I was past the age of horny Viking vampire sex. I wouldn't have been able to maintain his interest forever, and since I was so adamantly against becoming a vampire, I would have been forced to step back and let the love of my life move on with his.

I always made it clear I would never join him as a vampire, but yet he never gave up hope that I might one day change my mind. I was too attached to my humanity to want it. I wanted the human experience. I didn't want to have to watch all my loved ones die. I wanted to experience life, aging and growing old. I didn't regret my decision. I enjoyed my life. I didn't enjoy growing old, however. I wanted to live, but my days were numbered on this earth.

If I could do it all over again, would I choose the same? Probably not. It's a classic example of not knowing what you want until it is too late. I came to this realization a good twenty years ago, but by then it was too late. Now, it would be simply laughable. I'd look like the Ancient Pythoness, only with no power or authority.

My mortality was a weight I was collapsing under. I wasn't done with living, but I knew dying was the next step for me. There was nothing to be done to prevent it, but if I could do it all over again, I would choose to be turned. Back then, I worried I might have to face immortality alone if Eric turned me and still tired of me. I had no faith in our ability to stay together at all. But after living a long, full human life without him, I knew that no matter how much it would have hurt if he did turn me and leave me, I would have survived. Would have wanted to continue my existence. Of that, I have no doubt. I want to live.

But it would never be. I would never be immortal. I would never have the chance to love again. I would never have the opportunity to tell Eric what he really meant to me.

How silly and stupid my young self had been.

The first rays of dawn were breaking when I finally allowed myself to let go and cry as I had wanted to all evening. It was only out of respect for Pam, and a desire for some privacy, that I managed to hold out this long. I was still sitting on my bedroom floor, surrounded by my Eric Box trophies. My old bones were protesting wildly, but I didn't have the strength to move. I rested my head against the cushion of the chair I was leaning against. Deep, wracking sobs ripped from my frail body, making me shudder with their intensity.

I cried for everything that could have been. I cried for every moment I wouldn't have with Pam. I cried for all those I've loved and lost.

But most of all, I cried for Eric and the love I lost.

I cried myself out after a while and very reluctantly pulled my aching body to my feet and made my way to the bed. As I shrugged off my robe, I noticed the Fae stone and Eric's bullets still in the pocket. I couldn't help but notice, really, the stone was glowing and pulsing so brightly. I finished undressing before slipping his old Fangtasia shirt over my head, smiling how large it was on me. Sliding my hand into my robe pocket, I removed the glowing stone and bloodied bullets. Letting my old body relax into the comfort of my mattress, I lifted the bullets to my mouth and let my lips linger over the metal I had once sucked from my vampire's chest. I kissed it one more time before clasping my treasures to my chest.

I sighed as my tired mind put aside all information that wasn't needed and focused with complete clarity on the glaringly obvious mistake I'd made when I'd let him go all those years ago. Sleep was steadily marching through my body and my brain formed the words that would forever change my life.

"Oh, Eric, with everything I am, I wish I was twenty seven again just so I could love you forever." A single tear rolled down my cheek, lingering on my chin before splashing onto the hand clutching the items that would forever change my destiny.

So, what do you think? Want to read some more?