22 Heartfire 4E201, Near Lakeview Manor
Ivar stood quietly for a moment, surveying the scene.
Four dead Nords, one dead Thalmor agent. What a mess.
None of it visible from the road. Or from anywhere more than a dozen paces away, in fact. If I hadn't caught a whiff of corruption on the morning air, I might never have known this place was here.
Finally he stepped forward, dropping his bag of tools on the ground with a muffled clink. He made a deep bow of respect to the image standing in the back of the little cleared space.
Talos best and most mighty, I beg forgiveness for this desecration of your shrine. This is my land, I'm responsible, I should have kept the elves away so your people could worship undisturbed. I will set things right.
After a moment looking up into the god's face, he nodded to himself and got to work.
Four dead humans to be cared for, their faces and hands washed, their eyes closed and limbs set straight. Four graves to be dug, six feet deep, the bodies placed in them with reverent care. Four graves to be refilled, the words said over each in turn, all in the heat of an unseasonably warm fall day. A smith can't be afraid of sweat and hard labor, and he must often ignore bad smells.
Ivar dumped the dead elf unceremoniously in a ditch, a safe distance away where the stench wouldn't befoul the shrine any longer.
Once he disposed of the bodies properly, Ivar got down to his real work: cleaning the grounds, washing the cultic image, all by hand and with meticulous care.
By early evening, the sun down behind the mountains and darkness pooling in hollows of the land, Ivar found himself finished. A moon rose over him as he used the last of his water to wash away the day's sweat and grime. He set flowers out and lit a tiny brazier between the god's feet.
Then he knelt on the ground, stripped to the waist. Ignoring the growing cold, he closed his eyes in meditation.
Hours passed. Ivar's mind went calm and quiet, setting aside mundane concerns, listening to the wind and the small sounds of the night. He ignored the cold, the wariness of fatigued muscles. After a time, even those things faded out of awareness. Nothing remained but the flickering of a tiny flame, and a million stars wheeling overhead.
Somehow, it came as no surprise when his closed eyes first saw a man, approaching him from a great distance. Tall he was, and strong, a Nord of the Nords with a great jutting beard and steel-grey eyes. He looked a little like Ivar's father, Ragnar Sigurdsson who had made masterwork blades and fought in the great wars in the south.
About time you came to see me.
Ivar nodded. "Again I beg forgiveness, best and most mighty."
Bah. Lay off with the epithets and titles. No call for them, not between you and me.
"I don't understand."
I think you do. I think you have already begun to suspect what is happening here.
"All I know is that I can't be just a smith anymore. Maybe I can't be just a thane anymore. The dragons are coming back, and I only know one name for the black worm that seems to lead them."
Alduin.
"Yes." In the dream, Ivar took a deep breath. "My foe is a god, and if I fail, then he will end the world."
Most likely.
"Do the Thalmor know? Delphine seems to think they're behind it."
They do not. Although they think the end of the world would let them return to their imagined paradise. They might welcome Alduin's victory. Briefly. Until the World-Eater turns and devours them as well. Against his power, only the Dragonborn has any hope of standing.
"Then it was you who made me what I am?" Ivar frowned. "You who created me, as a weapon for the gods to use against one of their own number?"
In a sense. You are no mere weapon.
"Then what am I?" In the dream, Ivar surged to his feet, standing toe to toe with his visitor, bearded face staring into bearded face. "It's a man's lot to live in ignorance, but if I'm to be the sword of the gods, I deserve better than that."
You are me.
Ivar blinked in stunned silence.
If a man can wear the mantle of a god, then what's to prevent a god from taking on the mantle of a man once more? To live as a man, accept the risks of mortality, in exchange for a chance to put things right that once went so horribly wrong?
"What can a man do, that a god can't?"
A man can live. Can strive. Can make his own destiny, not bound by fate or the immutable laws of the universe. Gods cannot do any of those things. For all our power, we are bound more tightly than you can imagine.
Alduin's return has been foreseen for thousands of years. I have been making ready for it. But then the Empire – my Empire – made its terrible bargain with the Thalmor, and all my plans went astray. If the elves have their way, sooner or later, I will fade from men's hearts and then vanish entirely from the fabric of the universe. Then the end will come, whether by Alduin's hand or no.
So while I still could, I chose kenosis.
I chose to give up my power and become mortal again. Take the risk. Make the gamble. Trust that my new incarnation might correct the mistakes my first one once made. Bring peace to Tamriel, and a new Empire more soundly established than the old.
That is what you were born to do.
Back in the world of blood and bone, Ivar's eyes snapped open. His heart raced, his breath came hard and fast, as all the world came crashing down upon his soul.