Gods and Men
Sometimes, he wonders if he would have been any different.
The old him…in the future (time travel's weird like that) still made choices. Wrong choices. Horrible choices. Despite Grima using future him as his avatar, he was still him. As in, Robin. Future Robin. Him-him, not present-him, currently in bed, thinking about future-him, now dead in the past. If it didn't weigh on his mind so heavily, he'd have given up trying to sort out these terms long ago.
To Robin, Grima and Naga are still gods. It is said that only the divine reject their divinity, but to Robin, it matters little. A god is simply an incredibly powerful, immortal being. It's what he chooses to call Naga and Grima, and he'll continue calling them unless an actual god tells him what the real definition is. He's also read and heard many tales that stress the difference between Man and his creators. Some submit. Some rebel. Some tales say the gods envy Man for his mortal life. Others say immortality is what Men should strive for, whether it be through reward in the afterlife, or great deeds in this life so they are never forgotten. Robin doesn't know. He's seen men submit to gods, like Validar, and seen the horrific results. He's seen men fight against the gods, like Walhart, and seen results equally horrific. And he's seen himself. What he was (in the future). What he could have been (in the past). What he, in the dead of night, wonders about. Is it something he can still become? An avatar of godhood in mortal coil? Grima's gone. Forever. But he wonders what there might be in him still. Where it could lead to. What it could lead to.
He flexes the fingers of his right hand. This has been troubling him for awhile. Gods. Men. Fate. Destiny. The battlefield is so much simpler. Or was so much simpler. There aren't many battles to fight nowadays. None that require tactical planning at least. Part of him is grateful. Part of him wants to be in a tent huddled over a map, statues representing his allies and enemies. Part of him wants to bring out a tome or heck, even wield a sword, because at least then he'd be doing something. Not wondering about what he's seen. Not lying in bed where, every time he closes his eyes, he sees his future self laughing at him. He stops flexing the fingers of his right hand, then starts with the left.
Then he stops.
The gold band isn't particularly ornate. It's simple, to the point, and no different from any other gold band that can be found on the ring finger of any married man or woman. But it's at this moment that he knows he can go back to sleep, and not see Grima's eyes glowing in the dark. He knows he can go back to sleep, because he can hear the breathing of his wife beside him, and know that if the nightmares return, she'll be there to send them away. He knows he has to get to sleep, because chances are Morgan will be up at the crack of dawn again, and determined to make sure the entire house wakes up with her.
So he lies back on the bed. He closes his eyes. He welcomes the dreamless darkness.
Maybe his old self was like this once, he reflects. Maybe he did the same thing. Before he became one with a god.
But that won't happen. He knows this. Because the difference between gods and mortals is clearer to him now than anything else.
Unlike gods, mortals don't have to be alone.