"You, my lad, are in an odd position. You saved that town. Despite all you said about courage and love, Nords and Legionnaires – it was well said lad, well said indeed – despite all, it is you they remember. Even now a statue is raised in your honor. In years to come the tale will grow. This generation will venerate you as a savior. Unless foresight fails future generations will leave offerings and make prayers before the statue. Your actions will mingle with heroes as yet unborn, and will be linked to great figures from the past. Who knows, your deeds may burnish my own reputation in time to come."
"Would that be so bad?" I asked. "I looked to you as a guide to deeds. If not your direct touch, then your inspiration helped save those people. I would certainly hope they honor you for it."
Talos raised a white brow. "You really are kind, lad, in addition to being surprisingly on point. But here's the thing. The townsfolk have no knowledge of who you are. To them you are a hero without name."
"History will likely never know the name of Gaius Marcus Tribonius, Legionnaire of the Twelfth Cohort of the Ninth Legion. You and your fellow Legionnaires will be noted in dispatches as lost on patrol. Perhaps, with luck and if it happens within a generation, some enterprising chronicler poring over old records might make the connection between your patrol and the battle against the dragon."
"That same chronicler will doubtless edit your story to something more 'realistic' in the interest of accuracy if he or she is a historian, or more 'interesting' if that worthy is a bard. If the chronicler is a politician's hireling the tale will reflect the personalities and issues of the day. No matter. The chances your deed will be linked to you by name are vanishingly small."
"You see, a soul here in Aetherius both shapes and reflects living souls of those who remember them. As that memory grows or diminishes and as it changes, it causes the soul here to grow, diminish or change. This is why so many cultures – Nords in particular – instinctively venerate both the dead and the memory of their forebears."
I pursed my lips. "I think I follow. Is that how you became a god?"
"In part. In my case there was a name – a group of names really, including 'Tiber Septim' – so linked to my actual deeds that I did not forget and was not forgotten. As new deeds, legends and eventually miracles were added to my name I did not lose who I am." He shrugged. "There was more to it of course, but that is the gist of it."
"Unfortunately you do not have such history behind you. None living know your name, face, lineage, or other deeds. Not to minimize what you did, but your presence here is wholly tied to your last act."
Talos laid a hand on my shoulder, gently this time. "Should your deed be preserved it will inspire future heroes to overcome the challenges that they will face in their times. I foresee that the power of inspiration from an unknown hero will be stronger than a historical man, identified and deconstructed to meet some politician or bard or scholar's agenda. The little hero in every mortal will look back on what you did in their hour of trial and say "it could be me."
He looked me in the eye. "There is, however, a catch. Regardless of what we do here, historians will repeatedly revise 'your' name and face and lineage and deeds. Your tale will pass from history to legend to myth, undergoing a metamorphosis to meet the needs and wishes of each new generation. New branches will sprout from the tree of your tale while old ones wither. In time your myth will no longer resemble neither you nor your deeds at all. You could become something more than a hero but less than a god – a saint, perhaps. Perhaps even a saint of Talos. But in the process you, Gaius Marcus, the man standing before me, could fade… or more properly, change, perhaps into someone entirely different."
"I might have followed such a path myself had things gone a bit differently. For that reason I would see you remain who you are - Gaius Marcus - at your core."
"I certainly never asked for any of this," I sighed. "But you suggested 'we' might have some impact on things?"
"Indeed. For just as the beliefs and desires of mortals shape our afterlife, so our actions here can shape and influence the beliefs and desires of those mortals who remember us."
"Most heroic souls strive to keep the memory of their earthly lives fresh." He removed his hand from my shoulder, put both hands behind his back and began to pace. "They tend to repeat the same kinds of feats and adventures here as they did in their mortal life. Hence Sovngarde, the abode of heroes, appears as a great mead hall where drink and food flow, challenges are made and accepted, quests are undertaken, mighty battles are waged, and poetic Eddas are sung."
"So powerful are those images in the hearts of all mortal races that even Aragonians and Khajit, whose outlook and beliefs are so different from the Nords, may find their way here."
"I noticed. There were Imperials at the doors of Sovngarde too."
"Some," Talos allowed. "Those whose deeds of valor are not stained afterwards by infamy. You are not alone of your kind amid the halls of Sovngarde, Gaius Marcus Tribonius."
I shrugged. "I always figured I'd end up in the halls of one of the Divines. Maybe Stendarr… or you. My family were merchants, always close to Zenithar."
"I believe I know why you came to Sovngarde above all other possibilities, Gaius Marcus. Here in the Realm of Heroes your heart burned at the verbal darts Aelfir Lightspear cast. Your pride was wounded. Honor demanded you answer her call to battle. Pride and honor – those are the heart of a Nord. And small wonder, for the fathers of the fathers of Cyrodiil were themselves Nords."
A thought struck me. "Wait. Assuming they're with Zenithar, will I ever see my family again?"
Talos chuckled. "That depends on you. Do you think that Sovngarde is a mere reward, an unending feast to congratulate you on your mortal life? In every afterlife – save those of certain Daedra - there are deeds to be performed, battles to be fought and quests to be won. For Zenithar's realm those feats would be mercantile. Here they are epic quests and battles of legend. Striving, achieving, even failure - these things give souls purpose and meaning here, just as in life."
"Spiritually speaking, Zenithar's realm lies far from Sovngarde. Yet there are merchants here and warriors there, depending on the measure of their deeds in life. Should you bridge the distance betwixt the twain it would be a mighty quest, one that both realms would sing of for eternity."
The basso rumble of the god's laughter reverberated through Shor's Hall. "Of course in Sovngarde you do have drinking and the feasting in plenty. It serves to heal and invigorate the warrior soul after hard questing and fighting. Only the Daedra Sanguine offers naught but excess of pleasure to his souls."
