For legal disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

Author's note at the bottom, but who cares! Here's Chapter 3!

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Chapter 3:

Tears of Snow

. . . . .

26th First Seed, 4E201
Blackreach
. . . . .

Chack!…Thunk!

"Good, keep your knees bent, far right target now…"

Chack!...Thunk!

"Good shooting, take a rest," Drevas said from behind me.

I sighed, lowering the crossbow made from Dwemer metal, and looked at the makeshift targets he'd set up with wooden barrels, forming a rudimentary firing range. Eight out of ten bulls-eyes, "I didn't get them all."

"No need," Drevas was sitting on a rock, stuffing a long-stemmed pipe with that mossy stuff he's so fond of, "You were slightly off on the more distant two, but when it comes to actual shooting, with targets this large, the bulls-eye is like aiming for the body; even if you miss the heart, with a crossbow…" He looked at me meaningfully as he lit the pipe with a wisp of fire from his armored hand.

Thinking about it didn't take long, "The bolt would still go through armor, maybe hitting a lung or another vital organ, slowing them down," my mentor gave a satisfied 'Hm' as he puffed that pungent stuff, whatever it was, "And would it kill you to lay off that stuff while I'm around? It smells awful," I waved my hand in front of my face irritably.

My jerk of a mentor just raised an eyebrow and said, "Hmm? Did you say something, apprentice?" Oooh, one of these days!

. . . . .
24
th First Seed, 4E201
Blackreach, Sinderion's Redoubt
. . . . .

The day had started pleasantly enough: I'd discovered that the curtained room with the steam was actually a bathroom, with sink, toilet and bathtub; so, after taking care of the necessary, Drevas and I settled into a simple breakfast of bread, a boiled egg, some smoked venison and a cup of water.

Once we were…well, not full, but much less hungry, I was directed to wait on the circular rug with Scales while Drevas pulled over what appeared to be an ornate wooden case: it was almost flat, for a box anyway, maybe six inches thick, and around four feet long by one and a half wide, with an adjustable leather strap on the opposite side of the lid; the lid in question depicted a silver tree with bare branches at the 'top', a slender trunk, finishing with roots at the bottom, surrounded by a border of some kind of glowing blue stone, forming a kind of rectangular frame. On one of the sides, below the lid's seam, had what looked like small drawers like little squares, but without handles. On the branches side, between the edge and the blue border, there was a thumb dial and a button, both made of Dwemer metal.

He laid it on the carpet between us as I scratched Scales behind his fringe, "What is it?" I asked.

"This," my rescuer grinned, "is a device that a Telvanni wizard made based on a Dwemer schematic he found in a ruin on Vvardenfell, which you'll be learning about shortly. It's called a Tonal Toolbox, and is quite the amazing bit of artifice."

He then reached down to his belt, which had a color-coded brass dial on it, and turned the pointer to white; a clink emitted from the Toolbox, "Now," he continued, as I listened raptly, "what I just did was deactivate the box's 'traveling' mode and put it into 'safe' mode, which means I can now safely add, remove, or sort whatever items I've placed in it since it was last opened, even though it sorts most things on its own. It won't do much of anything, otherwise."

"But it looks so thin," I remarked, "How much can you fit in it?" I assumed magic was involved here, and was not disappointed.

Drevas smiled, saying, "I'm not entirely sure, actually, seeing as it uses something called 'spatial partitioning' to place different items into different…compartments, I suppose?" He looked at the box with a confused expression before turning back to me, "I don't really know how it functions, you see, only that it does; the thumb dial, here, adjusts which compartment is under the lid; the button below it resorts the contents into a vertical shelf, then opens the lid and extends the shelf for easy access." He then started turning the dial, while I looked on in awe.

Seriously! A box that can carry whatever you might need, even sort your luggage for you!? That's amazing! "You didn't answer my question, you know," I reminded Drevas with a smile, and Scales gave some huffs that sounded like chuckling.

He stopped turning the dial, which made a little clunk each time it went past a…setting, I guess, before looking at me with a bemused expression, "I said I'm not sure, didn't I? Peace," he held up a hand to keep me from going off on him, "What I mean is, I haven't found out just how much of any one thing it can hold; currently, I have scores of arrows, enough potions to bring someone back from the brink of death if necessary, several changes of clothes, enough food to last us another week if we ration it, an apothecary's wet dream in potion ingredients, even an entire dining room table, taken apart of course, with chairs for twenty and a complete silver service." Drevas paused to take a breath while I gaped disbelievingly at him, "All that and more that I haven't mentioned, and this case only weighs ten pounds."

Scales lifted his head, placed his beak under my chin, and closed my mouth, much to the Dunmer's amusement. "Wha-how-huh?! That's not funny!" Scales just chuckled at me while hopping onto the bed to relax. "I mean," c'mon, get it together Granger, "I know there's things like Featherweight Charms and Spatial Expansion runic enchantments, but I've never even heard of something this advanced!"

He smile turned a little sad as he explained: "I'm not surprised; even if you had grown up in this world, unless you saw me, you'd never even see one of these. The Telvanni wizard I mentioned only made three, and, as far as I know, he still has the other two. But," his smile was bright again, "enough explanations; it's time to read!" And he pushed the button.

The lid of the Toolbox popped open, immediately followed by a bookshelf expanding from its apparently shallow depths to a height of about six feet; I looked in amazement at the contents: dozens of hardcover volumes in a chaotic kaleidoscope of colors pressed tightly against each other on the top three rows, over a plethora of leather-bound journals stacked haphazardly on a shelf next to a drawer with 'Letters' written on the front; below these, on the bottom two shelves, was another, more organized, rainbow of books, going from purple to red, all of which were slightly glowing.

Drevas began selecting books from the top three rows while I stared in wonder at this portable library! Was I actually dead, but in-no, Harry would be in Heaven. Purgatory, maybe? No, there wouldn't be books! "You alright, lass?" Oh, right, Drevas looks worried, probably because I looked like I might collapse from sheer joy.

"Um, yeah…just…wow, you have a portable library," I whispered in total awe; yeah, I could not get over that.

He raised an eyebrow, before deadpanning, "Yes, and an entire house's worth of stuff aside," he handed me a heavy stack of books, about twelve of them, "Now," he said as I tried to balance the treasures he'd just handed me, "I have to finish crafting you some armor, so you sit on the bed and read until I tell you to stop."

"Yes, sir!" I said happily; I set down the stack next to a dozing Scales, plucked Provinces of Tamriel off the top, and settled onto Scales' back for some hardcore learning!

. . . . .

A few hours later, I closed Fauna of Tamriel: A Comprehensive Bestiary of the Empire, Third Edition, the last book in the pile, and looked at Drevas, still tapping away at something on the workbench, feeling troubled.

The twelve books he'd given me were, in order, two books on geography, one of Tamriel and one of Skyrim; four books of historical timelines (two volumes for the First Age) concerning this world's four and a half thousand years of history; three treatises on various subjects (necromancy, the Dwemer, and general magic); a book about politics that was dry as dust; a guidebook to social decorum, which included three whole chapters on various religions; and the bestiary that I'd just read. All of them, alone, were quite informative and left me feeling like I understood this world a little better; taken together, on the other hand…

There was something fundamentally wrong with the world.

I cleared my throat and called, "Drevas?"

"Mm?" he replied, not looking up from examining some bit of metal.

"Is it safe for me to go outside?" he looked at me quizzically. "I just feel like stretching my legs, getting some air, you know?" I bit my lip, hoping he'd give permission.

He kept his gaze on me for a moment, like he was trying to read my thoughts, before reaching down next to the bench he was working at and producing a pair of brown leather boots, knee-high with buckles around the shins, "I don't know about 'getting air', as it's pretty stale out there, but you can go outside. Just don't stray too far from the building, okay?" I nodded as I took the boots, sitting on the carpet to pull them on. "I should have a cloak in the Toolbox, seeing as yours is ruined; all that blood, the Falmer are sure to smell-"

"I'll take care of that," I cut across him, drawing my wand and pointing it at my bloodstained clothes, "Tergeo." The dried blood was siphoned away from the pile in a red-brown cloud, coming to rest in a neat pile near me; I was numbly surprised for a second by the amount of blood, my blood, which had been on my clothes. It formed a pile 3 inches high and almost a foot across. I shuddered, thinking about how close I must have been to dying, "Evanesco," and Vanished it.

As I was pulling my now clean cloak on, I noticed Drevas staring at me, red eyes widened in surprise. I chuckled sheepishly, while doing a mental tally: 'Hermione: 1, Drevas: … okay, also 1. That Toolbox is pretty amazing.' "What?" I asked nervously.

He shook his head, replying, "Just wondering if there's anything that stick,-""Wand!" "-whatever, of yours can't do." Drevas seemed to think for a moment, brow furrowed, before he sharply said, "Scales." The clannfear snapped to attention on the bed. "Go with her. He'll keep the Falmer away from you," he added to me as Scales moved to my side, the lizard's crest coming up to my shoulder. "For some reason, they really don't like clannfear, and usually run away whenever they smell one. All the same, be wary." Then he went back to, apparently, cobbling pieces of metal and leather together to make me some armor.

I patted Scales on his back, tucked my wand into a pocket inside my robes, and opened the door.

. . . . .

He was right; the air was stale out here. Whatever. It was quiet, and I needed to think.

Scales took one look at me, huffed, and began trotting towards a huge gateway with equally huge doors, a hundred yards away; they honestly looked tiny compared to the absolutely massive wall they were set into. I followed as best as I was able with my still sort of stiff legs, stretching my arms, slowly getting feeling back into my limbs, and thinking about my situation.

It was odd, that I was missing so many memories, yet was still capable of perfect speech and cognition. In addition, there was all the knowledge of magic that I'd apparently amassed over the years: charms theory, runic languages, magic arithmetical calculations, potions recipes, defense textbooks, divination techniques (which seemed a bit wooly, but I couldn't discount them, especially now), even transfiguration spells; all of it was up there, meticulously catalogued in my thoughts with the care of…well, of a dedicated researcher. Was I an apprentice to some great sorcerer? A gifted student, perhaps?

Then there were the memories of one Harry Potter, who I seemed to be very close to. While not as detailed as my magical memories, just thinking his name caused me to blush. I couldn't remember how I met him, nor any of what we did to become so close, but Harry was the only other thing I could remember about my old life; everything else was a blurry swirl of color and white noise. A particular memory, of the two of us on a couch, his head in my lap, my fingers running through his gorgeous black hair…his beautiful green eyes locked lovingly with mine…a small smile playing on his lips…Scales, in front, was looking at me weirdly. Probably because I had a goofy grin plastered on my face! Shaking my head to clear the happy distraction, I sat on the bottom step of the staircase before the gate, resting my chin on my knee and looking listlessly at Blackreach while Scales sniffed about.

'So I love him,' I thought, 'Even though I can't remember how we met or what led up to it, I know that fact instinctually.' My brain was telling me that didn't make sense, but my heart ached at that thought. 'What does my brain know, anyway? It can't even remember my parents, or anyone else for that matter. If for nothing else, I need to find a way back to Harry. He must be so worried about me.' My last memory, a brown and black swirl of fear, with Harry's voice raised in fury at someone else, was what decided me last night on my path, and I would not waver.

Still, the question of how I got here in the first place seemed like the key to getting home, much to my frustration. I mentally set it aside, but kept it at the ready should some clue arise. The next question was more…immediate to the situation at hand. Specifically, the Falmer, the Dwemer, and Blackreach itself.

From my studies, I now knew that Blackreach and everything in it were created by the long-vanished Dwemer, the Deep Elves. The Falmer were one thing: the books more or less reported them as being especially violent, semi-sentient creatures. What grabbed my attention was that the Dwemer security systems, traps and automatons for instance, were not only still active, but were capable of building more automatons to replace any that were destroyed. How did such an advanced race simply vanish, apparently for no reason at all? As haunting as that thought was, it begged another, perhaps more sinister, question: if the security systems are still active, why are the Falmer still around?

"Ugh, even with all the history I just read, I just have more questions," I grumbled, playing with what was left of my hair. Hm. I had just enough to pull a few strands over the scars on my brow and temple. I don't know why, but I felt self-conscious about my marred face. "Not like it matters. If anything, it says I'm a survivor." I nodded, deciding to ask Drevas about the security issue, on top of clarifying what exactly the Falmer were, and stood up to return to the house. That's when I saw it.

Over a ridge nearby, a pale humanoid creature ambled over, crouched low to the ground and looking like a nightmare made flesh. 'So this is a Falmer.' Its skin looked waxy and dead, sharp teeth glinting in the low light from phosphorescent fungi, its hand gripping a cruel-looking sword. Its sightless head turned toward me, sniffing the air; it growled, and began coming at me surprisingly quickly, given its hunched form.

Scales let out a snarl as I drew my wand, which made the Falmer hesitate, but only for a second before it resumed its charge. That second was all I needed. This was one of the creatures that had taken my memories from me, had tried to kill me, and was now making another attempt. 'I don't think so, arsehole.' I aimed my wand at the center of its bowed torso.

"Reducto!" I shouted, the silver spell zipping from my wand almost before I finished the incantation. It crashed into the Falmer's chest…

And blew it apart in a shower of gore.

I watched in horrified shock as one of its arms flew off into a ditch next to the road which ran in front of the house, its bottom half slumping as lifeless legs gave out, blood and partially charred organs sloshing onto the ground.

'Oh,' I thought numbly, 'right…blasting curse…' I stood there with Scales for a moment, in shock at what I'd just done, before he chuffed and poked my side with his beak. I looked at him, whispering, "What?" The clannfear looked at the house, before turning an expectant look on me. "Oh, yeah…we should go back in…before more show up, huh?" And Scales nodded before circling around and pushing me, "Okay! I'm going!"

I moved back to the house more quickly than I had left, keeping my wand out and looking around nervously as I went, in case any more of the creatures showed up; Scales kept pace just behind me, only stopping to…mark his territory…on a boulder next to the road, near the house. As I waited on the bottom step, taking one last look around, I felt a pressure build behind my eyes.

"Ah…ow…" it was still building! I felt like my head would burst any second, "Gaaaahhhh!" I moaned, crumpling to the ground as Scales let out a startled shriek-

. . . . .

There was a broken arrow in my leg, a pool of blood, mirror black in the cavern's low light, spreading from the wound.

My head swiveled up, sight blurring, to a heavily armored Falmer, axe held backhand, about to strike me down.

Then I heard a sound, metal grinding on stone. 'The door to the house!' I thought, 'This must be from when Drevas saved me!'

The creature struck; an explosion of pain ran from my temple across my face as everything went red-

And I was standing in a covered porch, in a snowy park, my arms around Harry's neck. Our lips pressed together shyly-

. . . . .

I was in the house, lying on the rug in front of the fireplace and looking up into Drevas' worried face, as something warm trickling down my cheek from my nose. "…Hey." I said lamely.

"Thank the Nine, girl," Drevas breathed, "You had me worried something fierce." He gently helped me sit up, handing me a reasonably clean rag. I wiped my face, glancing at Scales, who had just come up on my left, a look of…worry?...in his blue eyes. "Scales dragged you in after you collapsed," elaborated Drevas, "You were convulsing, eyes rolling, and spouting gibberish; are you alright?"

I looked down at the now slightly bloody rag, considering how I felt physically, as I was still pretty shaken mentally, before answering, "Yeah…I feel fine. A little sore in my nose, but…" 'Should I tell him?...Well, he did save me from…that.' "I remember…the blow that took my memories." I looked up at the old Dunmer, who looked…disappointed?! "What? Isn't that good?!" I snapped.

He shook his head, clarifying, "Of course it is, sorry; any memory recall, no matter what the content is, means your brain has started repairing itself, so your amnesia might resolve itself soon. Maybe," Okay, but that doesn't explain- "I'm just, well…we already know how you lost your memories; I was hoping you'd remember how you got here in the first place, see?" Oh.

Scales licked my face, before lying with his head on my lap as Drevas grumbled something from where he knelt in front of me. Smiling sheepishly, I tried to make light of it all, "You're being pretty cavalier about all this; are you in the business of rescuing young ladies from other worlds often, then?"

"Ha-Ha, lass," deadpanned the Dunmer, "Actually…" Oh crap, he looked as nervous as I felt! "While rescuing young lasses from alternate dimensions isn't something I partake in…I'm old, and well-travelled; there are plenty of things not written down in any book, that haven't been sketched out, let alone described; and I've seen…quite a lot of…things like that…in my long life," his eyes were far away as he spoke, before he suddenly grinned roguishly at me! "But you? Your case is unique; I've never heard even a whisper of something like this even being possible. Hence, why I'm not about to tell anyone about it; I know better than to do something so stupid." He got up, and spooned out some leftover stew from the cooking pot, while I absently stroked Scales' snout and digested his words as we ate in silence. Then, I remembered something else.

"I killed a Falmer," my voice was quiet, but Drevas still froze where he was about to get up to put the dishes away. "Just before…yeah…" Why did I feel so bad about it? It was going to kill me!

"Huh. Must have triggered your sudden memory recall," Drevas said. "And from the look on your face, combined with your lack of injuries, I'd say you found it remarkably easy?"

"Why do I regret it?!" my voice became shrill; Scales withdrew from my lap and closer to the fire, while Drevas continued to look at me with interest, "It was going to kill me! Or-or try to, at least! But yes!" I glared at Drevas, who was still so damnably calm! "It was easy! And horrifying! I blew that poor thing to pieces, and-"

He cut across my building rant with a calm, certain voice, "What you are feeling is called pity, Hermione; a natural response when one individual, generally one who is privileged with great power or social status, along with a capacity for compassion, encounters another individual, or group thereof, who are powerless before it." He shrugged as I gaped, continuing in the same tone, "In my opinion, it's good that you're feeling that, seeing as it's a good sign that you're neither a monster or irresponsible; after all, killing anything at all taints the soul. It can be worse, actually, when you don't understand what you are killing, or," and he fixed me with a hard look, "why that killing is necessary."

"It's necessary?! How can killing something, by your logic, be necessary?!" I couldn't believe how callous my rescuer was in regard to something as horrible as killing! "They have no chance, right? So I shouldn't use lethal spells!"

"Wrong," his voice was iron, "Your conclusions, which include your pity, are born of ignorance. Remember what I told you yesterday: beyond that door, expect no mercy."

Oh, I was ignorant, was I? "Enlighten me, then," I snarled, which earned me an unimpressed look, but I soldiered on, "If I pity them, why shouldn't I have mercy on them?" And I folded my arms, waiting for his response.

He let out a huge sigh, seeming to age before my eyes; he didn't seem young to my eyes, what with his lack of wrinkles and his strong yet raspy voice…but then I remembered that he was a century and a half old. That didn't excuse his words, not in my book, and I kept my glare fixed on him.

Then Drevas' hand lit up in an orange light. An identical light surrounded a bucket next to the door, before it floated over to his hand. He then placed it in front of my crossed legs. "What's that for?" I asked waspishly.

"You might need that in a moment," Drevas of Mournhold replied in a tired, patient voice, eyes dark, a frown on his face, "seeing as I'm about to tell you something about the Falmer and the Dwemer that isn't written in any book for two reasons: one, there are only two living people who know this story in full, and I'm one of them; and two, because when it comes to history, Hermione, most people who write books about it may have experience and learning in the matters they relate, so they spin good stories, but they don't know what really happened, and, between myself and that other person, we'd like to keep it that way, because the truth is worse."

I felt a thrill of apprehension when he finished, almost dreading such a story. Glancing at the bucket, I thought, 'Does he think I'm going to spew? Tch, bring it on.' I kept my glare in place as I nodded for him to continue. Drevas nodded back, before beginning to speak:

"Before I begin," I huffed, but then he snapped, "Shut it, girl." I recoiled from the coldness in his tone, but kept my mouth wisely shut; his glare, which made his features seem like they'd been cut from the hardest of stone, softened, then, "You seem like a very intelligent young woman, so think about the question before you answer: after all you've read, have you not seen the most obvious clue as to what the Falmer are?"

What? What did he…wait…Dwemer…Dunmer...Altmer, Bosmer, OrismerFALMER. No. No, that can't be…Can it? "They're…but you're not…" But he'd noticed, probably from my facial expression changing from confusion, to horror, and finally disbelief, seeing as he nodded. 'No.'

"They were elves, once," Drevas began solemnly, "In fact, you've already read about them; in the First Era Timeline: Volume One, the first chapter relates the legends from before the First Era began, and mentions how Ysgramor and the Army of Atmora drove the native elves from Skyrim, establishing it as a kingdom; the Snow Elves are the race the book speaks of, the sixth house of the Mer. According to Nordic legend, Ysgramor's army defeated the main Snow Elf force, killing the elven leader, now known only as The Snow Prince, and drove them out of the land; what isn't usually spoken of in this legend are the three hundred or so years of genocide that followed, where Nordic warbands would go out on hunts, find Snow Elf redoubts, and murder everyone within…even the children." He paused, eyes narrowing, as though he was trying to remember what came next. "What you'll only find in select books, none of which I have on hand, is that the Nords didn't kill all the elves in that battle or the resultant mass-killings; most of the surviving Snow Elves escaped the slaughter of their people by seeking refuge with the only other race that had populated Skyrim in those days: the Dwemer. No one saw them again, officially, for over a thousand years."

He paused to take a sip of water, "Unofficially, I have it on good authority that the ancient Dunmer, the Chimer, attacked Red Mountain in 1E700 for another reason beyond that Heart of Lorkhan business. You see, House Dagoth, in its efforts to discover what the Dwemer were planning to do with the Heart, discovered that the Dwemer were using hideous creatures to preform most of the hard labor; curious as to where they came from, the agents of H. Dagoth managed to smuggle the corpse of one of the creatures to the surface, where it was handed off to a crack team of H. Redoran soldiers, who then delivered it to a H. Telvanni master wizard for study. What makes this part of the story so important is the fact that the person who told me this, as they lay dying, had five years of unlimited access to H. Telvanni's archives, and had the confidence and friendship of Divayth Fyr, a four thousand year old member of that house; yet, beyond Master Divayth's word, she could find no evidence of such a mission ever occurring."

I swallowed, tentatively asking, "And…you trust her word?"

"Given the fact that she was the Nerevarine? Yes."

I felt cold. 'No, please no, it can't be true.'

Drevas continued, speaking near a whisper, as though we could be eavesdropped upon, "Despite there being no record of such research, Divayth reported that he was one of the apprentices who examined the body in question. According to him, his team found that the creatures were, in fact, elves of an unknown species; this, apparently, was enough for the Great Council to make preparations for war. When Dagoth Ur reported the use of the Heart in 'unholy' experiments, the Council deduced that the Dwemer had been kidnapping various elves and corrupting them with the Heart, making them slaves. They went to Red Mountain to demand the Dwarves' surrender, and the rest is history. Except, that none of these abominations were found at Red Mountain by the council forces; because of this, the corpse that was examined was declared an abomination of House Dagoth by the early Tribunal and all records of its examination destroyed. One Dwarf, however, did survive the destruction of his people, and was granted exceptionally long life, though this was partly because he was plagued by the Corpus blight; he lived in Tel Fyr's basement, and, close to the end of his long life, told the Nerevarine to, quote, "Search the sands for the truth," unquote. She had no idea what he meant, at the time, as he was quite delirious by then.

"Now, it's commonly been believed that the Falmer are the Snow Elves for centuries, but no one has ever been able to prove it beyond a doubt; the Nerevarine had a lead, but she never followed it up. Other adventurers have entered Blackreach before us, but most of them either die down here or become slightly mad from the experience…like that fellow who reported the Snow Elves were forced to eat the glowing mushrooms down here, and that's how they became the Falmer. He also said they're planning to retake the surface world, which is of course ludicrous; what I think happened was that the bloke got hungry and ate a piece of one of the mushrooms, which Sinderion stated in his journal were 'dangerously hallucinogenic'. No, Hermione, the truth was indeed hidden in the sands: the deserts of Elsweyr.

"A few years after the Nerevarine, a few trusted friends and I went looking for the truth in the more inhospitable regions of that country. It was actually rather easy; we found a Dwemer ruin after only a month of searching, one which wasn't on any map. Most of it was beneath the desert, but we were able to enter from a tower extending above the sands; deep underground, after countless traps and automatons, inside a sealed laboratory untainted by Falmer or time, behind the door of a safe with the. Toughest. Lock. I. Have. Ever. Picked…was a journal, which I deciphered from Dwemer (don't look so surprised, it's not that hard to learn), and learned that much of it was an account of the Snow Elves' exodus. It was…well, it was horrifying. The Dwemer told the Snow Elves they would provide them with refuge, on one condition: they would have to surrender their sight, so they couldn't reveal the secrets of the Dwemer to anyone, when the day came that the Snow Elves could return to the surface. In desperation, they agreed."

Drevas paused, picking up his cup and gazing into the water with an unreadable expression; meanwhile, I'd already arrived at the conclusion that the Snow Elves were indeed the Falmer. The implications were terrifying and, curse my inquisitive mind, I wondered how they became the way they were: feral, hideous creatures. Years later, lying awake at night, I would sometimes wonder if I should have stopped the story there, if I would have been better off not knowing the truth.

But that day, deep in Blackreach, Drevas went on, eyes not leaving his cup, while I sat in stunned silence, rapt with attention, "They were betrayed. According to that journal, the Dwarf who wrote it, long before the Snow Elves sought refuge, had done experiments into soul manipulation; that is, whether or not Black Souls, the souls of sentient beings like you or I, could be altered into White Souls, or the souls of animals, like Scales here." The clannfear huffed indignantly, but didn't look away from the fire he'd been staring at the whole time. "The Dwarf also wanted to find how to do it the other way around, White to Black, but his superiors overruled him, because of politics or something. Anyway, he discovered how to do it, change Black to White, using a very specific alchemical brewing technique, which I…studied…and in doing so found that virtually any Alchemist, even a novice to the art, could craft the potion easily…so long as they had the right equipment and about half a Septim's worth of common ingredients. Hence, once I'd finished reading it, I burned the journal to ash."

'No.' "You know how to make it," it wasn't a question. My voice was weak and shaking with nausea. 'No. Please, Gods, no. Why?'

Drevas didn't look up, but went on, "I do, and I plan to take the formula to my grave." He took a sip, and concluded the story, "The journal said they took the Snow Elves, one by one, and gave them a cup of the potion. Once they drank it, either willingly or forced to do so," words cannot describe the hate and disgust in his tone when he said that, "they were isolated until the 'process was complete'; every single Snow Elf that went to the Dwemer was changed in this way. An entire race of Mer, their music, history, magic, language, and culture…wiped out in the span of a year…because the Dwemer leadership wanted slaves that could not even comprehend the idea of rebellion. The Falmer, creatures which kill or enslave anyone they come across, used to be the Snow Elves." Drevas' eyes, filled with cold understanding, rose to meet my sickened ones, finishing, "So if you pity them, Hermione, then be merciful, and kill every Falmer you see."

I grabbed the bucket and heaved, spewing up my half-digested lunch and bile; when nothing was left, I kept dry-heaving, my body and mind sickened beyond reason. It was only when Drevas pulled the bucket away, I realized I wasn't heaving. I was sobbing. It was too horrible! I couldn't even imagine having such callous disregard for another people! How could the Dwemer be so CRUEL?!

Finally, after a few minutes, I found my voice, "WHY!? HOW COULD THEY DO THAT?! And those," I scoffed "-books, they talk about the Dwemer like they're were THE GREATEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED, LIKE THE WORLD WOULD BE BETTER IF THEY WERE STILL AROUND!" I stood angrily, throwing my half-drank cup into the fire, trying and failing to find my composure. I hissed at Drevas without looking at him, "Why have you told no one this?"

He produced a pipe, filling it with some kind of mossy substance, "Your reaction should be answer enough," Drevas replied nonchalantly. If I hadn't been so angry, I would have detected the edge in his tone.

I whirled to face the seated Dunmer, another screaming rant on the tip of my tongue.

But he overrode me with a voice like steel: "How you've reacted is an example of how the smart people would act, if they knew. You've read about what this world is like, girl. It's far from a pretty place half the time. Now imagine what it would be like if Mannimarco knew what I did about the Falmer potion."

My mouth shut with a click. Oh…still, this was a matter of historical record! "That's…But…"

"But nothing," Drevas growled, standing. I was stunned, for a second, by the cold certainty of his tone. It was then I realized that he was pissed, "If for no other reason, I haven't told anyone this story to anyone in power for the same reason I won't ever, even on my deathbed, reveal your origins: because if they knew, they'd do something colossally stupid with the information. The last time knowledge better left buried ended up in the wrong hands, we had the Oblivion Crisis, and that was just Daedra. Or is the fucking King of Worms not enough of a corpse-humping n'wah for your sensibilities?!" Then he roared, "WHAT DO YOU THINK WOULD HAPPEN IF THE FUCKING THALMOR GOT THEIR HANDS ON THE FALMER POTION?!" He turned, picked up his mace, and strode out the door into Blackreach, slamming the door behind him.

…Scales chuckled.

"Not funny, mate," I said quietly.

. . . . .

He was sitting on a boulder near the road, puffs of smoke rising from his pipe, face neutral and mace lying against the rock, staring at the inner cavern.

'Well, here goes nothing,' I began walking toward him, looking about first to make sure there were no Falmer about. Scales, who'd come out with me, slunk off toward the gatehouse to sniff around. As I got closer, I smelled something that made my brain go 'SKUNK!' Whatever that was…Not like it matters what was in that pipe, I needed to fix this!

When I got close enough to Drevas to speak without raising my voice, he spoke, "I'm sorry for screaming at you, Hermione. We're both feeling culture shock, and…well, it's…been awhile since I've spoken of…those matters, and I have quite a few bad memories related to how I found all that out, you see."

"No, I apologize," I began earnestly, "This is your world, and, given your age and experience…I should have respected your judgment instead of arguing with you, especially about something I didn't understand."

"If the young didn't argue with the old, how would a master ever learn from their apprentice?" Drevas gave me a warm smile, which I tentatively returned, not really following his logic.

"Err; shouldn't it be the other way around, Drevas?"

"It goes both ways: master to apprentice, and the knowledge gets passed on; apprentice to master and the master learns new ways of looking at his work, because of the relationship that gets forged between them. A new perspective usually results in progress, if you follow me?"

'Huh. I never thought of it that way.' I nodded in agreement. Nervously, I toed the ground, glanced at Scales, and drawled, "Sooo, about that crossbow…"

Drevas chuckled quietly, "Sure, I'll teach you how to shoot. But," he looked at me with an intensity that seemed…familiar, somehow, "I expect you to take this training seriously. It would be a shame if I went through the trouble of teaching you, only for you to die due to overconfidence."

I wasn't having any of that, "See this?" I asked, jerking a thumb at the badge on my robes, "It's a badge, for something called Gryffindor. Harry had one on his robes, too. It says Honor, Courage, and Discipline. So I won't back down, I'll master whatever you have to teach me, and I'll do whatever it takes…so long as you help me get back home." I held out my hand with a smile.

He looked at my hand, then at me, before smiling himself. "Very well," he stood, and took my hand, "From this moment forward, Hermione Granger, you're my apprentice, meaning your life is now my responsibility, and I'll do all I can within my power to help you find a way home." His grip tightened momentarily, but his smile didn't fade.

My smile grew, before I replied, "Please take care of me, Master Drevas."

. . . . .

The rest of the day was spent in the house, with Drevas showing me how to load, aim and fire the Dwemer crossbow. Without ammunition, of course; neither of us wanted to run the risk of breaking something with a misfire.

"Keep one hand under the body," he instructed, "then pull the lever on the right, there. That activates a small steam engine attached to a pulley system, which pulls the bowstring into place."

I did as he said, before asking, "What if I need to manually pull the bowstring?"

"If the bowstrings break, which shouldn't happen, then throw the crossbow away and start spelling everything that tries to kill you." I looked at him in surprise. "I mean it; the inner workings of the crossbow are unlikely to break, so the only reason it shouldn't work is if the bow itself snaps."

After that, it was a simple matter of getting used to loading and shooting, repeating a dry run with the bow over and over again: pull lever to set bow, quickly move hand from lever to quiver to bolt cradle, brace crossbow against shoulder, aim using the ladders at the end of the bow, tap firing lever in the stock to shoot. Repeat as necessary. Once I had done that for a good hour or so, I read the book he'd given me on what this crossbow was capable of, including a few more tips on shooting. No idea who she is, but this Sorine Jurard really knows her stuff.

While I was doing that, Drevas donned his cuirass and gauntlets, the same black material as his boots and greaves, collected the Toolbox and set out into Blackreach to 'set up a firing range'. When he returned, hours later, with a smear of blood on his chest and white paint on his gauntlets (the wand saves the day again!), he reported that we should be good for target practice the next day; I hurriedly went to sleep, after dinner and washing up for the night, of course; my reasoning was the need to get firing this crossbow down quickly, so I could move on to my other goals, like escaping Blackreach.

Which brings me to two days later: standing out in Blackreach, having just finished my latest firing drill, with Scales watching the perimeter (he had already chased off three Falmer, and killed one, alleviating my worries that he was no use in a fight), Drevas being his usual flippant self, and me standing there, in full kit, trying not to verbally tear into him.

My mentor told me, when he gave me the armor, that he was no smith, but he did have a good eye for someone's size. Gone were the canvas tunic and skirt, replaced by a burgundy leather cuirass with a brown hood and woolen scarf; a pauldron covered my left shoulder, attaching at my left breast and back to a steel breastplate for maximum protection. Brown leather pants with a utility belt containing a small knife, compass, a wand holster made from Dwemer metal, and pocket spyglass, along with thick, studded leather gloves completed the look of a young explorer; I kept the boots from several days ago, only adding a hidden dagger made of some green material Drevas had given me, just in case. My hair now covered my right brow and part of that eye, sticking up wildly everywhere else, though the hood would hide that. Combined with the determined look in my eyes, I must have looked rather dashing; Master Drevas just said I was adorable, the arse.

Presently, my mentor knocked out the ashes from his pipe, drawling, "Well, you're as good as you'll get without field experience, and I've honestly had my fill of this musty cavern." He stood, stretching, while I looked on with no small amount of anticipation. "So let's get some food in us, pack, and leave this fetid hole." I couldn't agree more.

. . . . .
Evening, 26
th First Seed, 4E201
Blackreach

. . . . .

We moved to the right after leaving the house, weapons drawn and eyes alert, following the road which curved into Blackreach proper. As we reached the craggy rocks marking the border between our territory and the gloomy expanse of the cavern, Drevas motioned us to a halt. Scales, continuing to follow my mentor's direction, kept close by my right side.

Then, Drevas whispered something odd, "Laas Yah!" I felt an odd sensation, starting in my throat and running to my core, as wisps of purple light left my mentor's lips and pooled about his eyes. He looked around while I tried to figure out what that sensation was.

"Alright," he spoke quietly, not taking his eyes off Blackreach, "our destination is nearly on the opposite side of the cavern, nearly three miles away, somewhere to the left of that huge lantern. There's two Falmer on the left, just past the closest structure, there," he pointed with his bow to a ruin, not far from the road I presumed we'd be traveling. "You take one, I'll take the other, and then I'll take the one skulking about in that copse of mushrooms on the right. We'll ignore the road, as it leads to that other building, which is crawling with the bastards; so we'll go left. Our first stop is the crags next to the huge purple mushroom in the center, see it?"

I nodded, as it was kind of hard to miss, whispering, "And then?"

He nocked an arrow, "Then we'll go around the left side of the crags, hugging the wall, and it should be a simple matter of following the pass, around the bend to the bridge, then to the exit." My mentor looked down at Scales and I, "Scales already knows, and you're smart enough to know better, but I'll say it anyway: do not raise your voice or cry out, no matter what. There are a lot of Falmer down here." And he began moving down the hill, Scales and I only half a step behind.

Minutes later, I saw the two Falmer he'd mentioned, lurking about on a ramp. I raised my crossbow quickly, took a breath, adjusted my aim, and fired, all in the span of two seconds. Drevas loosed his arrow only a split second later. Both of them dropped, dead without a sound. Another hiss-shik! And we were creeping toward the crags at speed, keeping one eye on the building Drevas had said was full of Falmer.

An age later, we were hunkering down behind an outcrop that shielded us from the threat-filled building, so I took the opportunity to reload. 'I wish this thing could do that itself…I'll look into that later.'

"Laas Yah!" whispered Drevas. And there was that weird sensation again!

"What is that?" I asked as quietly as I could.

After looking about carefully for a moment, he whispered back, "When we're out of here." He set another arrow on his bowstring. "Three low on the left, two high on the right, just around the next bend. Which do you want?"

Tough choice. I was better at firing from elevation; less of a chance for gravity to screw up my shot. But three? Without alerting the whole mountain? Hmm…Oh! "I'll take the left."

My mentor raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure?"

I nodded, "I take two of them while Scales takes the third." The clannfear in question perked up, probably itching for some action. From the look on Drevas' face, he was impressed.

And he nodded, adding, "Don't miss." We moved.

Scales vanished from my side as I reached my appointed ridge.

Three Falmer around a small fire.

Ready. Aim. Fire.

One down with a wet gasp; Scales bursting silently from the shadows onto number two. Load.

Number two dies to a brutal peck. Aim. Number three distracted by Scales' appearance. Fire.

Number three goes down with a gurgle, load, whirl to check on master.

As he whirled, bow at the ready, to check on me.

I nodded at him, affirming my success; he nodded back, and began moving closer to the end of the pass, lit as it was with yellow light. Scales appeared at my side, beak bloody. A quietly cast Cleaning Charm fixed that, before we moved to join Drevas further up the rocky pass. Before us, on the right, was the huge sun lantern, hanging over a truly massive citadel. I could see black shapes moving about on its crumbling walls, 'We better not be going there.'

Another "Lass Yah!" sent a further thrill through me, like a light shock. Seriously, what was that?! Some kind of exceptionally potent spell?

"Okay," my mentor sounded worried. That can't be good… "Our way is mostly clear; out of this pass to the left, hugging the crags. There's one squad of eight left to go, just off the road to the right," so that was what had him worried, "then over a bridge, and out of this place." I looked at him, the purple giving way to stern red.

"Eight." My whisper was as disgusted as it was flat. Scales chuffed in annoyance next to me.

Drevas nodded seriously, "Eight. We can't sneak by them, as they're too close to the road, and they're in cover, so we can't hit them from a distance either. The only way I can see is a direct confrontation, but if they cry out…The Falmer over there," he gestured toward the citadel, "will hear us, and we bring the whole cave down on us; which would be suicide, as we're still a little more than a mile away from the tower."

"Shite." I swore, thinking furiously. There must be a way…Of course! They can't cry out if they have no voices! I smiled, which caused my mentor to cock his head. "I know a charm to silence them. I might be a bit light-headed afterward, though, as I'll have to overpower it…"

But Drevas smiled, "Scales and I can take 'em in close quarters." He holstered his bow and drew that dreadful black hammer of his. "They're in the third copse of mushrooms on the right. Don't miss, lass."

And I didn't; but, forgive me; I'd rather not relate just what exactly Drevas and Scales did to the group of silenced Falmer, only that the creature's defeat was as completely one-sided as it was gruesome to watch. It really drove home just how dangerous clannfear could be. Also, I resolved to never get on my master's bad side, lest I get the business end of that mace. That Falmer must have sailed ten bloody feet-ahem. Sorry, getting off track.

Anyway, once I had my breath back (and cleaned the blood and gore off my companions), we continued at a more leisurely pace to a bridge which, according to my master, would see us out of this dreadful place. As we came up to it, however, Drevas suddenly froze. "Master? What is it?" I looked about for other threats, coming up empty, thank the gods.

But he pointed to the bridge itself: "Up there. See that arch of Dwemer metal sticking up?" Squinting, I could see a pointed arch, sticking up about halfway down the bridge. Once I nodded, he said something that made me go cold, "That's a Centurion Arch. It keeps them from losing power over time, and repairs them should they get damaged. From the steam coming out the sides of the Arch, I'd say there's one in there, ready to defend the bridge against…undesirables. In this case, that'd be us."

Oh, just when I thought we were good to leave, a bloody buggering Centurion! Just reading about these things gave me the willies. "What do we do?" I asked in a quivering whisper, Scales growling at my side. "Can we go around?"

Apparently not. "Not unless that wand of yours can levitate all three of us over a 100-foot wall of rock." I could not, and I told my mentor such. "Nothing for it then; we'll have to fight our way through." He began counting his arrows, coming out of a slot on the short edge of the Toolbox, looking at the bridge grimly as I tried to find an easier way around this problem.

'Transfigure it? No, too big for me. Then what? Blasting curse? No to that, too much metal…hmm, I wonder…that would be really loud though…Oh, to hell with it!' "Master?" He looked down at me, still grim. "I think I know a spell that can bring it down…but it's really loud. Can we make the exit before the Falmer fall on us?"

Once he got over his shock of my knowledge of a spell that could drop a fucking Centurion, he looked thoughtful for a moment, before, "Assuming this spell doesn't tire you out?" I shook my head. "Then yes. That fetcher is halfway across the bridge, the end of which should be a quarter mile from the exit. We'll have to move fast, though."

Three cheers for physical conditioning with Harry! "Last one there is a troll shite?" I snarked with a cheeky grin.

Master Drevas smirked right back, "I may be old, you little s'wit, but I'm hardly out of shape." He turned thoughtful for a moment, "Also, not taking that bet." 'Sod.' "Take the lead. At the top of the stairs to the bridge, run right for the other side as fast as you can." I slung the crossbow onto my back, drawing my wand. "Once that fetcher activates, take him down, and then do not stop for anything; once you're across the bridge, follow the road to the left. Scales and I will be right behind you." I nodded, and we completed the trek to the bridge's stairs.

At the top of the stairs, I took a moment to calm my pounding heart, stuck my head around the corner, 'bloody hell that thing's huge', and there was the exit off to the left, a tower rising up into Blackreach's ceiling. 'Now or never.' I took a deep breath…

And ran.

Thump. Thump.

The Centurion stepped out of its arch with a hissing groan.

Thump. Thump.

I stopped, squaring my stance, and pointed my wand at it as the Dwemer animunculus turned to face me. 'I'm not going to die down here!'

Thump. Thump.

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" Blue-white sparks struck the machine in the center of its chest.

KLAM! The Centurion's top half blew apart, both its arms flying to either side of the bridge, while the rest was shredded into shrapnel.

'Whoa.' All around me, a piercing screech went up. The Falmer were coming. 'RUN!' And run I did.

ThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThump

I was off the bridge. The whole world was screeching, barely heard beyond the pounding of my heart in my ears as I hurried to the opening at the base of the tower.

ThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThump

I leapt through the opening. There's a lever in the floor. Drevas and Scales bolt through the doorway at speed. The screeching is getting much louder.

Drevas grabbed the lever, yanking it to one side. A loud hiss followed and the floor began to quickly rise, cutting off our view of Blackreach and the horde of Falmer pursuing us.

ThumpThumpThumpThump…Thump…Thump

I slumped to my knees, panting, as my heart slowed and adrenaline slowly left my body. Rolling onto my back and regaining some semblance of calm, I realized my mentor was laughing. I looked up at him incredulously, "What…could possibly…be funny?!"

Drevas wiped away a tear, and said, "Hermione, I'm laughing because no one is evergoing to believe that you blew apart a fucking Dwemer Centurion with ONE SPELL!" And he resumed laughing hysterically.

A few seconds of thought later, I joined him, relieved to have left that nightmare place behind.

The elevator continued its upward journey, taking us closer to the sun.

. . . . .
_\|/_

Sorry, bit of a long Author's Note here. They won't be common.

I don't think it has been said, but this story contains: graphic violence, coarse language, mentions/descriptions of alcohol and drug abuse, racism, speciesism, religious intolerance, social intolerance, as well as graphic depictions of war, rape, necromancy, non-Euclidian horror, cold-blooded murder and seagulls (*grumbles caustically*).

So, basically, this story will stop just short of MA in terms of rating and content. Consider yourselves warned.

Also, some notices concerning the way this story is written:

After researching the dates of various events, I found that the events which occurred in Helgen, in canon, happened on the 17th of Last Seed, 4E201, which is almost five months after the events I'm currently depicting. In this story, Alduin returned on the 5th of Frostfall, 4E200, or, in the Harry Potter verse, the 5th of January, 1993 CE, which, in this story anyway, is the day Hermione returns to Hogwarts after Christmas Hols and discovers Harry was gifted a Firebolt anonymously. Not really important, just something I found in the course of researching the Elder Scrolls world for this chapter.

The exact circumstances of the Nerevarine's demise will be addressed at some point…maybe in a separate fic, maybe later in this story. I haven't decided yet.

Hermione is already a no-nonsense badass in canon. She won't be godlike in this story, but…well, applying HP spells to the Elder Scrolls world is just plain hax. If you think Defense is overpowered, just wait; I haven't even gotten to the Transfiguration bits yet!

On a lighter note, thanks to everyone who's followed, favored, and reviewed so far! Love!

Next time: More explanations, a shiny scroll, and snow.