mercer's ledger

Draped in golden wings, watching the flow of time, was the Great Chief of the Divines. It has always been, it will always be, his sacred duty. He must look after time, after these rivers. It was his fate, carved for him long before he could agree to it. He had been so blessed to have had a fate chosen by the gods. 

One in particular was of interest to him. The waters of this time, of this family, were stained with the Dragon blood. It glowed in ribbons suspended in the water, dancing like the great auroras that arched through the sky over the land She would have to protect. 

The glowing, golden blood was rather selective in who it chose to bless. Like the dragons themselves, it favored the firstborn more often. And it seemed only one or two in each branching generation would bear the curse, carry the blessing. The world had no need of it, of people with it. Until soon. Until now. 

A delicate hand, made of ethereal light, crossed over the newest stream. The water and blood and light smeared into Aetherius. This child will be the last member of their family. The Goddess of Families and Fertility has chosen not to bless her so. Chosen to make sure that she had to be the last one.

“Mara.” He spoke, or what mortals would perceive as speaking. The Divine ways, the way they see the world, the words that leave them, can and is only truly known and understood by them. Still, his tone was even, if it contained a bit of sigh. Mara already knew how he felt. 

“She must be the last of her kind.” Though Mara’s voice was typically kind and gentle, it was firm. She would not and did not undo her action. She was correct, after all. 

The Nine gathered around the stream. They watched as the water and blood and light bore into a new soul, blessing Nirn with new life. The newborn baby cried, as they all do. Akatosh smiled, he couldn’t help it. Her parents named her, so proud of what they had created. It was bittersweet, they were doomed to leave her life, all too soon. Before she could even get to know them, before they could get to know her. 

Arkay was saddened by this, feeling the same sympathy for the girl and her parents as he always did. But it was the way it had to be. He watched as her parents became sick, as he called to them, leading them away. 

“Her name is her own to make.” Zenithar seemed to understand what the others were thinking and feeling. He glanced downstream, just a bit, to the moment everything will change. 

Akatosh could not look away. The girl was sent to an orphanage, but ultimately ran away. She was more fortunate than most, to have had the opportunity to learn to read, write, and learn basic spells. The teenager, now a young woman, drifted. She went from city to city, place to place, forest to forest, just trying to get by. 

He would have wanted a better life for her. For her parents. For her parents’ parents. For their entire bloodline. He knew as well as anyone that her suffering would shape and guide her, even if she would not always understand that. 

“I wish she had told me.” The god whispered, not for the first time feeling his humanity conflict with his divinity. 

Akatosh felt Mara soften, but he couldn’t care. She was usually unpleasant. “She didn’t know.” She spoke gently. 

He restrained himself. He wanted to curl his claws in frustration, but the waters of time were bound to them. And his lack of divine control over his mortal emotions would cause needless mortal suffering. “It would have changed things.” Even the gods can lie. 

Julianos, the fountain of advice that he is, spoke to Akatosh. “Go talk to him. He wants to see you.” 

“She was mourning.” Stendarr spoke, distracted more by the living woman than the dead one. He was unhappy with many of the choices she was going to make, but still understanding. Still merciful. 

Kynerath was neither understanding nor merciful. “She acted recklessly.” 

“She acted blasphemously.” Nor was Mara. 

Akatosh had to change the subject, lest his heart broke all over again. He watched as the woman came to a split in the river of her life. All possibilities sprawled out before her, a million directions she could take her life. Yet, further down, all streams lead into the ocean of her destiny. Mortal sympathy panged his divine heart. She could not escape it. 

“We’re too shallow.” He said, trying to follow her possible lives. “This is not what we’re looking for.” He looked downstream, following the blinding light of her blood, of her destiny. But he was looking for the long, dark shadow it cast. 

“The light blinds even us.” Talos felt that he, of all gods, was the only one who could ever understand what the woman would go through. Akatosh would have heartily disagreed, if either of them had voiced their opinions. 

But he didn’t want to start that fight again. Instead, he said. “You are unhappy.” 

“She wants to fight my empire.” Talos looked up at him, still acting much more human than the rest of them. 

Akatosh understood that very well. Understood why Talos was upset. Although the light blinded him too, he still tried to peer closer. He finally saw what he was looking for. The dark shadow, casting its wings over the land. The light rising up to meet it. The two locked in battle, with uncertainty beyond that. The lights and streams of space and time fading and drying. None of the gods could see beyond that. Whatever would happen after that could only reveal itself if she could fulfill her destiny. 

“She will have to fight.” Talos frowned. “All her life. No rest. No way to gather her strength. There is no being strong for war when all is war.” 

“Are you not the god of war?” Dibella didn’t care nearly as much as her fellow gods. Instead, she was painting some lavenders, breathing violet life into the flowers. 

“I am the god of warriors.” Talos sounded offended by what she said. Akatosh wished he still had eyes to roll. “She is blessed under those stars, my stars.”

“Guide her.” Arkay was also disinterested, still counting deaths, looking through lives. He glanced at her, wondering of her death. It would either be to the world eater, or after she defeated him. It was unknown, even to him. He looked back to the spirits. 

“No.” Akatosh spoke before Talos could, not that he expected him to have agreed. “We cannot intervene. Her destiny was written long ago, in the scrolls.” 

Julianos peered even closer. “She will be lonely.” He whispered. “A terrible thing for a mortal to be.” 

Akatosh looked upstream as it flowed through Aetherius. He smiled. “No.” He whispered. “Look.” Each of the gods who cared peered closer, into the auroran light shining from the water, into the tiny lives of the mortals. 

To see a body being pulled from the harsh, dangerous waters of a dark river. An exhausted man spotted her, the blood from the wound on her head having caught his eye. He ran over to her, grabbing her, trying to understand where she even came from. “General Tullius, sir!” He called. “There’s another body!” 

“Leave it.” General Tullius didn’t look up from what he was doing. He tied the fabric around the other man’s head as tight as he could, making sure the knot was unbreakable. “We don’t have any more room on the cart for dead bodies.” He was distracted, focused on the man in front of him. He had to make sure he couldn’t use his Voice, or they could all suffer. 

The first man frowned, laying the unconscious woman on the dry bank. He hoped the locals would at least give her a proper burial. To him, those who died without names were the saddest. He moved to leave her, but then he noticed the movement. Her chest was rising and falling. She was breathing. She was alive. “By the N-! Eight.” He cried out, catching himself, just in case. “Tull- uh- General! General Tullius, sir!” 

“What is it now, Hadvar?” Tullius sighed. 

“She’s alive!” Hadvar picked the woman up, carrying her in his arms. He brought her over to Tullius, who was still more focused on his captive. He lifted her just a bit, trying to show that she’s alive. 

Tullius yanked Ulfric to his feet, but gestured in the vague direction of the last cart. “Put her in this one. We can figure it out in Helgen.” 

Hadvar placed the woman on the inside, close to the driver. He was worried she’d fall out, still having not woken up. He was sure to keep his eyes on her, and not on the man sitting across from her. Hadvar couldn’t look at him. As Tullius’ bound and gagged prisoner was unceremoniously thrown in the same cart. 

What none of them saw, truly saw, was the Great Dragon of Time, looking down upon them. He looked at the woman, feeling a sorrowful joy for her. She would suffer, there was no question in it, she would suffer. But it’s what she was chosen for. It’s her fate. She built for it, able to survive. Able to thrive. Still, he wished a better life for her. He wished the miracle of ordinary days for her. 

“Know this.” He spoke gently to her. She would never hear him. She wouldn’t even think it to be a dream. His words would only be a fleeting feeling to her, at best. “You are loved. You are loved by your ancestors. You are loved by your family. You will always be loved. There are people you haven’t met yet who will love you, whom you will love.”

Her face shifted. She could hear him, after all. But only within the deepest parts of her draconic soul. The part that could understand draconic words in a draconic way. “Use this love.” He whispered to her, he wished he could hug her. “It is stronger than any sword, more powerful than any spell, louder than any shout.”