Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel

Loredas, 26th of Evening Star, 4E 201

High Hrothgar

Harry's past two days had been very strange. He kept thinking of that book, of everything that happened. He'd only read a little of it, skimming through it really, looking for any mention of Flamel. It had mentioned this place, though. Nirn. Now that he had a little time to think about it, it'd hit him. This place was another world. Thinking about it nearly took his breath away. He clutched his school bag closer to him.

He might not ever get home again. Arngeir and Venaethel had seemed enthusiastic about researching portals, but Harry just thought they were being like regular adults and hiding things from him. He'd seen the looks they exchanged when they thought he wasn't looking.

He was supposed to be sleeping, but the thoughts swimming in his head kept him awake. Venaethel and Arngeir had had an argument. Brother Einarth had to come in and talk sense into them. Harry couldn't understand the words, but it was the first time he'd ever heard Einarth speak, and Arngeir had told him later it was in the dragon tongue. He'd said his Voice was so powerful he couldn't speak normally. Harry wondered how Arngeir could speak normally, but he didn't offer the information, and Harry didn't ask.

Venaethel had left to go speak to Paarthurnax, but Harry had to stay at the monastery. He'd wanted to go, but he had blisters on his feet and ears from the cold. Arngeir was no proper healer himself, so he'd said. Arngeir had done what he could, but they would take a little time to heal. Venaethel had said she'd get him a proper set of gear, but until then, he had to stay inside as much as possible.

Harry guessed Venaethel was all right. She'd been harsh they first met, but she'd warmed up considerably afterwards when he had stood up to her. Maybe it was against elven culture to look at their ears?

Harry couldn't help but think of Venathel as wild woman. Her brown skin reminded him of Pavarti Patil in his year. Her eyes intimidated him a little. They were an inhuman shade of red-orange. Many scars covered the right side of her face, but they were hard to see, covered by one of three sharp slashes of blood red war paint. The armour she wore was shiny, but it had a lot of leather in it, too.

A door slamming jerked him abruptly from his thoughts. Venaethel came stalking through to the living quarters, all fire and fury. She tossed him a small bundle. "Harry, there you are. Get your things ready. We leave as soon as you are done. I'm tired of this place."

"Venaethel," Harry began.

"Call me Ven. I hate my name," she said with a scowl.

"Ven," Harry amended, "how did it go?"

A flurry of expressions crossed her face, so many that Harry didn't know which to decipher first. He recognized anger, fear, and a great, sweeping weariness of which he'd never seen the like. "Paarthurnax is a dragon."

"Oh," Harry said. He understood, at least a little. It would be like if Snape actually were a good person and not after the Stone. "He saved me. Arngeir said I would have frozen to death. I'd like to meet him."

Ven nodded. "He is not what I expected, not after fighting them for so long." She fiddled with the edges of her hood. "Most of what we talked about doesn't matter, but he talked a little about you. He said you came from the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound."

"What's that?"

"Apparently, it's a split in time or something that happened at the defeat of Alduin. Paarthurnax taught the thu'um there to the Nords who defeated Alduin in the past, and that is where he saw them use it. He says he can't use it himself because he's a dragon. Their Voice is who they are, and their names hold what they are at their essence. They're immortal. They cannot comprehend mortality, and the Shout makes them mortal."

"Immortal? But you said you killed them!" She ruffled his hair. "Hey!" Harry yelped, trying to slap her hand away.

She caught his wrist and grinned. "Immortal doesn't mean invulnerable, you know." She gestured to the package she'd thrown him. "You gonna open that or not?"

Harry opened the bundle in his lap and saw the contents: thick furred gloves, a pair of boots, and a faded yellow hood that matched Ven's own. It was like Christmas all over again. People just didn't give him things. "Thank you," he said.

She brushed him off. "Don't need you getting frostbite or more chilblains, that's all. You're just lucky our feet are near the same size." Harry thought she was just being stubborn because she had a smile on her face. Yeah, she really is all right.

The gloves were bigger than his hands, but the hood and the boots fit him comfortably. The hood was a strange thing. His magic seemed to flow through it and expand as he put it on. He put his trainers in his bag and shouldered it. "I'm ready."

"Let's go," Ven said, and then she cursed. "The supplies. Hold on, Harry. We can't quite leave yet." They made their way towards the center room where Arngeir stood in meditation.

"Now Arngeir, before I forget, here," Ven said tersely, retrieving a large bag from her rucksack.

"More supplies? You have my thanks, Ven. Kyne always provides for us."

"You're welcome." Ven scowled. "I also brought a few bottles of your favorite mulled mead. I shouldn't give it to you, since you're so content to let Alduin ravage Skyrim. I don't agree with the Blades, you know this, but I don't agree with you either."

Arngeir sighed. "I am not 'content' to let Alduin destroy Skyrim. It is as it was foretold and nothing more. The world will end one way or another, and the Shout merely postponed the inevitable. But I wouldn't say no to more of your secret brew. I've never had its equal in all of Skyrim."

Ven's face softened, and she nodded. "Effusive praise. Eyja would be happy to hear you say that, I think. It's her recipe." Ven's upturned lips were the first hint of a smile Harry had seen since she stormed in "She always wanted to come home to Skyrim." Then Ven grimaced. "It's better than that Black-Briar swill. Maven Black-Briar brews her mead drier than the sands of Hammerfell."

"Indeed?" Arngeir chuckled. Ven handed him the pack. "Farwell, Ven, Harry." He nodded at them. "May your journey be a safe one."

"May Julianos guide your path, Arngeir."

"Goodbye," Harry said. "Thanks for everything."

They stepped outside. The sun was only just beginning to crest over the horizon. As the cold hit Harry's face, he immediately started shivering. He wondered why Ven wasn't cold. Her armour left her arms and legs bare. His feet and hands had started to feel numb before Arngeir took him inside. Even the snowfall at Hogwarts hadn't been this bad. He wasn't used to this kind of biting cold. It reminded him of a wolf. It howled around the mountain and used sharp ice-white teeth to bite at him. The hood, gloves, and boots helped, but it still cut down to his bones.

Ven handed Harry a small golden-sheathed dagger. It looked dangerously pretty. The back of the blade had a a vicious notch. It had stylized wings on the hilt and an eagle head on the end. She taught him how tie it through his belt and draw it quickly.

Harry had seen how far the mountain towered over everything else, so he wasn't surprised when barely a quarter into the way down, he became exhausted. Ven kept nudging him forward. He was determined to make it to the bottom. About halfway down, he couldn't make it any farther. Because of his violent entrance into the world, the cold, and his lack of sleep during the night, his energy had drained completely. He had nearly fallen asleep as he walked.

He barely felt it when Ven moved her pack to the side and hoisted him up around her back, looping his hands around her neck and getting a good grip under his knees. The lull of her swaying steps put him to sleep, and the world faded.