Turdas, 7:03 AM, 16th of Rain's Hand, 4E 202

Sovngarde

The Aurbis was in the hands of one being. And this being demanded destruction. It was a swift, precise action. From common perspectives, it would have spanned only a matter of seconds. But in those seconds, the shape of the Aurbis itself changed. Entire planes of Oblivion ceased to be. Immortal beings were extinguished forever. None of them had even a chance to react. Then, as quickly as the act had begun, it was over, and life went on. The being was content with his work.

"How strange it is, the path that has led us to where we stand."

"Strange, perhaps. Unlikely, certainly. But there was only one path through the branches of Time that would lead us here."

"I suppose we have you to thank for that, don't we?"

"No one can thank a person they know nothing of. The credit will lie with those who acted more visibly than I. The ones I call Controllers. But yes, this is my doing. Your part comes next."

"Tell me. Have you and the Dragonborn ever so much as spoken?"

"No."

"Well, then. I have done something that you have not."

The Jarl of Windhelm sat upright in his bed, a stolen book sitting open in his lap. He looked upon the words written on its pages, and the moment he did, his heart froze. In that moment, he realized that he had been used. He had thought himself a hero of his people—a reluctant one, yes, but one who answered the call of need. In that moment, he saw that his suffering, his perseverance, his strength, all had been used against him. He saw that he had unwittingly led his people to the brink of destruction.

Minutes passed, and tears flowed freely down the Jarl's cheeks. Tears of agony, and despair, and horror at what he had done. But when he looked up at the man standing over him, he saw a face of compassion. And it occurred to him, however dimly, that if the Dragonborn himself were showing him such mercy, perhaps he still had some purpose left. He clung to that idea.

"How ironic it would be, if the Dragonborn learned how much of his life was only to serve your goals."

"The Dragonborn as you know him would never even have been born, without my influence. My goals and his, in the end, are one and the same. He must know, now, that he was created by some influence besides the Elder Scrolls. But I doubt it troubles him."

"He died for those goals of yours, you know."

"That's not entirely how I would describe it."

In a cave of solid ice, far from all other living things, the Dragonborn writhed in midair. Tendrils of glistening black plunged and weaved through his flesh. The pain was unbearable. But his body was unhurt. The presence within him was doing something much worse. Attacking something infinitely more precious. It was being unraveled. Dismantled. Piece by piece, he felt it fall away, and with every piece lost, he forgot more of who he was. He screamed, and his voice was not heard.

"You made his goals the same as your own. What goal of yours could compel you to submit him to such torment?"

"There were two reasons why he had to make that choice, but at the time, he knew only one. No mortal mind, not even my own, is able to comprehend what he took it upon himself to learn. I can only see the echoes of my actions as I choose to make them. None of us can see to the end of infinity."

"That sounds quite impossible."

"For us, absolutely. For him, less so. But that was only one of the two reasons. The other has been… Much more challenging to manage."

"You've told me about some of this, I believe. The mask, yes?"

"Unleashing an ancient terror upon the world is no easy task. Arranging for its downfall afterwards is another matter entirely. I would have preferred to simply extinguish the terror in its resting place, but in order for the mask to fall into the right hands, another route had to be taken."

"A much bloodier route."

In the sky above Whiterun, dragons did battle. The people below would have been dead within a matter of seconds, but for that the dragons were preoccupied battling each other. It was a losing battle, and everyone could see it. And yet there was nowhere to run to.

Within the walls of Dragonsreach, an ordinary wizard-scholar, never known for acts of greatness, joined a visitor from Riften in launching a desperate plan. It would involve wielding power far greater than either of them. Possibly, their lives would both be taken in the process. Worse still, the effect would only last for a few minutes, and neither knew if or how they would return. But to safeguard an entire city, the wizard reasoned, extreme measures needed to be taken.

He had never so much as seen the Evergloam before. He wondered if Nocturnal would appreciate him opening a door to it in the middle of a mortal city.

"I did all I could to prevent any unnecessary loss. But sadly, yes, it was bloodier. There was no other possible route."

"It has been an unlikely course of events. How many Daedric artifacts did you end up making use of?"

"Three, not counting the Dragonborn's own use of the Oghma Infinium. It's a rare occasion that even one will be involved in a battle. But for the mask to fall into the right hands, the odds had to be defied at nearly every turn."

"And, in some way, the mask is connected to what the Dragonborn subjected himself to."

"It comes down to a matter of souls. The mask could never be fully utilized by a black-souled wearer. Its power would be a shadow of itself. Its intended wearers, the dragon priests, were no longer properly living beings, and so their souls were white."

"No longer properly living, and yet you consider the Dragonborn the same living being he once was?"

"Not the same, no. But we all change over time. At some moments, the change is drastic. You know this well."

"My thanks to you for the reminder."

"I would not mourn him. Not for what happened in the cave. That was not his greatest moment of loss."

It did not happen instantly. When the ancient terror appeared outside Whiterun, Paarthurnax withdrew from the battle in the sky, and dove down to stop him.

His body was destroyed instantly. A flash of unstoppable lightning tore through him, and his body was gone. But his soul lingered for a moment. Then it drifted, as it inevitably had to, into the one mortal with dragon blood to bear witness to the moment.

But even so, it did not happen right away. The Dragonborn himself did not learn of the Old One's demise until the next day.

"Did he love that creature?"

"I do not claim to know what thoughts are in his mind. But in this case, I am certain of it. Yes. He did, and still does."

"And you know this, how?"

"His work is done. The denizens of Oblivion who did not pass his judgment have been wiped away. Perhaps, if it had been done out of a sense of justice, he would continue to control the world himself. But he has not acted out of simple justice. His brother may have. But I created the Dragonborn to have the one sort of mind that could be opened to the emptiness of truth, and not break under the revelation. The sort that would not only remain intact, but still fight for the peace of our kind. He did what he set out to do. Now, he seeks to live in peace of his own."

"Our world has never been a peaceful one."

"No, nor will it be with the threats beyond Mundus gone. There will always be a need for more heroes. But after doing so many impossible deeds, I believe the Dragonborn has earned his rest."

"What will come of him?"

"His work was done in one stroke. But there was one more impossible deed he wished to do. One last wrongdoing he wished to set right. Only then would he have the peace he wished for."

On a frozen mountaintop, high above the world, two beings watched the sunrise together. There was nowhere that either of them would rather be. Finally, there was nothing to fear. The challenges of Time were all in the past. The ages would go by, and they would remain together on that timeless peak. There, they were happy. They loved one another, and nothing would ever come in their way again.

"So it is over, then."

"For him, perhaps. But you have much work left to do in the world."

"I was hoping that you would say that. I was starting to miss Windhelm, and that is no easy thing to do."

"You may see it again soon enough. Come, Ulfric. Let us see what mark you will make on the world now."

The End