Less exposition in this chapter, focus on plot progression.


Harald had sold several gems from the Solstheim raid and was making his way through the Snow Quarter back toward the city gates, his agreed meeting place with Siva. The Dunmer in the Quarter were grim and standoffish, but that tended to be the Dunmer response to outsiders in general, so he was neither surprised nor offended, the night was falling slowly on Windhelm, they had travelled for most of the day and wandered round the city for another few hours when they arrived so it was getting late.

He had visited the Palace of Kings, it was dark and glittery outside, the torchlight reflecting of a sheen of ice on the stone walls, but otherwise unremarkable, him not being allowed inside because of the Jarl having 'business of state', it sounded more like a party to him, but cultural differences and all.

As Harald was walking out of the arch into the oldest section of the city, the 'Valunstrad', which meant "Avenue of Valor" in the old Nord language, he met himself. Up near to the exit a large brass plaque was set up at eye level, inscribed at the top in bold letters, though slightly tarnished, was his adopted name.

HARALD
REIGNED 1E 143 – 221

13th in the line of Ysgramor and
founder of the great Kingdom of
Skyrim, where he established fair
Windhelm as his capital.

Harald smiled at it, then continued south along the Valunstrad toward Candlehearth Hall, the popular inn of Windhelm. Siva was standing outside, holding a small flame in her hands, teeth chattering.

"How long have you been out here?" he asked, dispensing pleasantries in favour of concern for his friend.

"Few hours," she mumbled back.

"Why didn't you go in?"

"Wouldn't let me" she replied, looking up at him under her hood, red eyes reflecting red fire.

Harald's brow furrowed. They certainly wouldn't refuse him entry, why Siva? It might have been her obviously magical ability, symbolised by her robes, but the Nords were not that distrustful.

He straightened his back, holding his head up, chin forward, put on hand on the handle of his sword and strode forward, slamming open the door, banging on the far wall as it bounced off it.

The proprietor, a short man with a handlebar moustache, stopped his conversation with a patron, looking up at Harald. Seeing his dress he gave a short bow.

Not a Nord then, thought Harald, a Nord would just nod, even to a man with as many rings as Harald had.

Siva followed him in; he could hear her soft footsteps over the threshold. The patron, a Nord but not a warrior, saw her and muttered something, trying to push past Harald and through the door. Harald did not move though and the man hurt himself on his armour.

"Nord Mead," he growled, "Spiced Wine for the lady, warmed." He glowered around the bar, it was surprisingly small, but a group of Nords sat at a table in the corner, talking to each other and looking over at the bar.

"We don't serve their kind here." Protested the proprietor, nervously nodding at Siva.

Harald looked around him, there were three ways he could play this, surrender, intimidation or bribery.

Since Bribery was a form of surrender he took intimidation and picked up a small golden ornament from the top, the bartender tried to protest and snatch it back but Harald held on to it, holding it in two hands, ready to snap it in half.

"Aye sir." Said the bartender presently, sighing, "warm spiced wine, the Greatroom's upstairs, but I'd warn you sir," he said, pulling out a bottle from under the counter, "there's a strange crowd up there tonight."

Harald put the little golden thing down, took his bottle, sneered at the man, flashed a grin to Siva to let her know he was acting, and walked up the stairs, the wood creaking under him. They emerged out in a larger hall, many different tables set out around a double chimney. Harald sat down in a corner near the back of the stair so that he might observe who was coming and going from the Greatroom.

He sipped his mead, the taste was fruitier than he was used to, he wasn't sure he liked it.

"Why?" asked Siva. That was something he liked about her, she was direct, never honeying her words.

"A lesson to the bartender about Nords," he said, turning to her, "But also because I take care of my friends."

"You're not a Nord." Pointed out Siva, choosing not to comment on his second point.

He didn't answer, just smiled. Siva seemed to be steadily warming up to him. At first, she no doubt perceived him as taking advantage of her and her brother's situation to use them as a magical support weapon, however, as that was only an afterthought of Harald's and he had perused the friendship with them afterwards, he was been vindicated in her eyes.

They sat, warming slowly by the fire. Harald unbuckled his swordbelt and hung it on the chair behind him, Siva lowered her hood. As Harald looked around the room he started picking out the 'strange crowd'. In one corner a mercenary sat, looking glum and staring into his mead, nothing unusual there, three Cyrodiillian wizards sat in another corner, sipping what looked like brandy from small cups and gambling with a set of dice, 'strange' perhaps, but they looked well-travelled, perhaps making their way up to the College?

Further in, between what seemed to be a secondary bar and them sat two very old looking Nords, not old looking by age, but they seemed out of their time. The first had an incredibly long white beard with pieces of bone and ivory entwined in it; he wore intricately decorated robes with swirling geometric pictograms. His companion was a huge man; he had black hair and beard and carved ancient Nordic armour like the set Harald had salvaged from Saathal. They were locked in whispered conversation with each other, the robed man staring into space and his friend combing the room as Harald was doing himself. Their eyes briefly met, Harald got an incredible sense of power from the look, and there seemed to be a brief spark of recognition in them. But there was something else in his eyes, maybe…familiarity? Harald wished he had his Legilimency, an art which he was most proficient in. He rarely actively practiced it, as minds were complicated things and he had enough thoughts of his own, but he had developed the ability to discern truth with a glance, similar to how many professional interrogators would read the body language of their prisoner and learn things from the information.

At the bar a very oddly dressed man was harassing a barmaid. He was dressed in a fine suit quartered purple and red and had a white cravat. His hair, like his clothes though, was in a state of some disarray, whereas once the white locks and beard may have been combed neatly there were now many strands hanging down. He was making expansive gestures and every so often Harald could hear random, seemingly unrelated words coming from him.

Up the stairs came two mismatched people, seemingly together, the first was a huge Orc, one of the first Harald had seen in Skyrim. The Orc had a large, dirty bastard sword strapped to his back, but was otherwise unarmed. The second was a female Dark Elf, dressed in dark clothes, the sort that an assassin or thief might wear to move silently in darkness. The Orc and the Elf moved toward the bar, exchanging curt, cold nods and a sneer each with the strangely dressed old man.

Harald wished to investigate the group, he informed Siva, then walked over to the bar, acting as normal as possible, something about the group didn't feel right.

Just as he had reached the bar and received another drink from the barmaid, happy to be rid of the strange man, he heard a singsong voice bellowing from the stairway.

"Sheeeeooooo!"

The man in quartered doublet span around.

"Sam! You're LATE!" he bellowed at a similar volume, attracting the attention of the bar. Luckily there were few patrons otherwise they would have been scared off. "They're OUT of CHEESE!"

That seemed an odd complaint. Perhaps it was code and this was a guild meeting.

'Sam' walked up, a Breton with dark hair and tanned skin, dressed in dour black robes tied with a cord at his waist. He greeted the other two.

"Orkey." To the Orc, who growled at him, teeth bared, no doubt a close aquantaince, Harald doubted anyone but a friend could address an Orc as such without sustaining serious injury.

"Spider." To the Dunmer, who inclined a glass of wine and tilted her head elegantly, the name suited her immensely.

Definitely a meeting of some kind, they were clearly using code names.

"You found him yet?" asked Sam without preamble to the group.

"Who? My Disciple?" asked Sheo, whispering conspiratorially this time, his slight accent completely different from his demeanour beforehand.

"My brother was mistaken." Said the Dunmer quietly, "He is not your disciple; it simply took longer to process the information."

"Hermy making a MISTAKE!?" bellowed Sheo in outrage, then paused, "NOT my disciple?!" he screamed again, this time horrified.

"A miscalculation."

"The Mother of Roses was visited by Him this morning." Put in Sam.

"You and your roses." Scoffed Orkey, downing a horn of some foul-smelling brew.

"She sensed His power, even through the Veil." Said Sam quietly, looking about the room, luckily the big Orc blocked his line of sight to Harald.

"A variable, as Brother said." Continued the Dunmer, "One that has pulled at the strings of my web."

"Where is the dog?" asked Orkey bluntly.

"Dear Clavicus is still recovering." Replied Sam, "Alternatively if you mean the Huntsman, he is negotiating with some witches."

Harald heard the sounds of drinking by the group, the quiet clink of Spider's teeth on the wineglass, the loud quaffing of Orkey, and a crunching sound that he couldn't see the origin of.

"Don't move, but look at those three in the corner, the two Nords and an Elf." Came the voice of Spider.

"We are not the only ones with interest in the new arrival." Said Sheo.

Harald discreetly followed their line of sight, he saw with some alarm that the old Nords he had seen earlier were sitting as his and Siva's table, Siva looked unalarmed, but there could easily be a dagger hidden somewhere. He wanted to get back over there, away from this strange assemblage.

"The dark man reminds me of the Septim." Said Sam to the group.

"Not at all" replied Sheo scornfully.

"How would you know?" hissed Spider.

"I spent three years with the man. We destroyed your sword together, don't you remember?" teased Sheo back, the Dunmer hissed, annoyed.

They came a tense silence; the robed Nord on Harald's table had leaned over and begun whispering to the dark haired one.

"You said he'd be here." Growled the Orc.

"He WILL be." Assured Sheo, "Sam SAID he would!" he said, steadily increasing in volume again.

"He likes the mead." Commented Sam, taking a sip of his own.

Harald had had enough, he slipped out of his barstool and around the darkened edges of the room, away from the fire. He came to his seat at the table, unoccupied next to Siva.

"Took your time." She muttered, glowering around her.

"Yes he did." Said the larger Nord, sitting back in his chair.

Harald ignored him and looked at Siva, silently enquiring to her wellbeing. She gave a small shrug, then took a goblet of steaming liquid, the wine Harald had ordered and raised it to her lips.

The robed Nord took a set of runes from his sleeve. These were small chips, rectangular and carved with symbols that represented different concepts or words. Harald could read them, but only understood a few of their concepts. He had studied Ancient Runes after he graduated from Hogwarts, they were most useful in the preparation of Wards and Runic Arrays, basically magical computers.

From what he had seen in Skyrim they held almost identical meaning with the ones on Earth. The Nord took two particular runes and set them together crossways to the odd group across the room. The Orc and Dunmer had started forward, faces resolute, but they began casting about themselves in confusion, looking for Harald and the others.

Harald had seen this effect before, usually when he donned the Cloak in plain sight of others. He looked at the runes on the table.

The one closest to him was Pertho, a symbol similar to a capital 'E', this represented Secrets or Chance, the other, Algiz, a stylised 'Y' was Protection, and commonly carved into the hearth's of homes to bring the inhabitants health and happiness. Clearly the Nord had set up some kind of warding around their table.

"Now we may speak clearly." Said the other, looking Harald in the eye, he once again got the sense of familiarity with the man.

Harald evaluated the two, he was less sure of being able to defeat them, the older man clearly had power, and he suspected the warrior was more than a bodyguard. "Who are you and what do you want?" he asked, from his armour the man was of the older Holds, perhaps a native of Windhelm itself, but certainly a traditionalist, and in Skyrim the new was of the Empire, their kneeling and their ceremony, were scorned.

Names for Nords were important, they were symbolic, his own, Harald, meant 'Heroic Leader', a second name was usually only given for a particularly noteworthy achievement, such as Hoag Merkiller, who was named for obvious reasons, or Talos himself, which in the Nordic language meant 'Stormcrown', so called for his use of the Voice to call storms to aid him in battle.

"You may name me Wulfharth." Replied the man, a strong name, a derivative of 'Wulf' or Wolf, "I am here only as a messenger, and a reluctant one at that," he said grudgingly.

The older Nord, as yet unnamed, touched Wulfharth's arm, Wulfharth stilled.

"Your prayer is answered, and I am told to deliver three things," he continued, "first, Luck," he put forward a little golden Septim, the highest currency of the Empire, made of gold. The Septim had endured as the coin's name even after the Septim line died out and the Mede family became the Emperors.

Harald took the coin, it was very old, one side had a dragon, and the other a tarnished profile, its features indistinct, though undoubtedly it had originally shown the noble face of Tiber Septim, the First Emperor.

"The second, Wisdom." Said Wulfharth, leaning back.

The unnamed Nord spilled rune tablets onto the table, then took out certain ones following a method of divination unknown to Harald. The Nord said not a word all though the action. Runes were a common method of Skalds and shamans to foretell the fate of the person they were casting the runes for. Harald accepted this readily, he had been the subject of two prophecies in his life after all.

The first rune was Ansuz, an 'F', symbolic of Divine Power or a godly ancestor, this was not to be surprised at, Harald was Dragonborn, and carried the blood of Akatosh, the Lord of the Divines in his veins.

The second was Thurisaz, a line with a triangle halfway down, which spoke of a difficult test or powerful enemy. Again, this was in line with Harald's expectations, he had been drawn to Mundus for a purpose, though the road was easy now it would not be in the future.

The third rune from the Elder Futhark, the language of Runes was Nauthiz, meaning need or necessity, the need for Harald to triumph over this enemy?

The penultimate rune confirmed his theory, this was Teiwaz, the Spear, it showed an arrow, and meant justice was forthcoming and symbolised strength of purpose, willpower.

The last rune was blank, Wulfharth looked surprised, but then nodded, looking at Harald with a new expression on his face. On Earth, this rune was known as Odin's Rune, but probably had a different name on Nirn, regardless, it symbolised unlimited potential, and was very rarely cast, appearing often around momentous periods of history.

"A portentous reading." Said Wulfharth as his silent companion scrapped the tiles back into a bag. He began to explain the meanings but Harald cut him off, indicating his understanding of the letters. Wulfharth nodded, and then presented his last item.

"Purpose." He said, Harald all the while listening intently, Siva seemed to be following the conversation in some confusion, but watched them intensely. "You have the Blood of the Dragon, learn from the Speakers of the Dragon and the Guards of the Dragon, live with honour, and you will find your purpose." said Wulfharth, then abruptly, both men stood and walked to the mismatched group of individuals, who had apparently been standing at the threshold of the ward for some time, attempting to breach it.

As they walked forward the Orkey and Spider drew their weapons, angry looks on their face, the unnamed Nord and Sam exchanged friendly nods and Wulfharth and Sheo just looked at each other.

"You know the Accord." Said Wulfharth sternly, his hand on the pommel of a sword but he had not drawn it. Orkey growled but lowered his huge sword, whilst the Dunmer's knives disappeared immediately back into her dark clothing.

Sheo started to giggle manically, then looking directly at Harald's eyes he gave a mock salute and disappeared in a flash and a puff of smoke. Harald was not even surprised at that, this was shaping up to be a most extraordinary day.

Orkey huffed, then stomped out down the stairs, presumably departing the building.

Spider gave Harald one last contemptuous look, then seemed to melt into the shadows, the flames briefly dimming as she went.

Sam raised his cup to Harald, "Good Fortune to you Dragonborn!" he called jovially, "We will take great interest in your exploits." He then went to the silent Skald and clapped him on the shoulder, steering the aged man to the bar where they filled flagons and toasted each other, drinking like old companions.

By the time Harald looked around Wulfharth had disappeared also, leaving only his words and his coin left. Harald put the coin in his pouch at his waist and sat back, motioning for another drink.

"What did they say?" Asked Siva quietly, sipping her now cool wine.

"You were sitting right there." Said Harald, looking at here puzzled.

"I couldn't hear you, your mouths moved but no sound came out, it seemed…dampened." She explained gesturing to her pointed ears.

Harald wondered about that. He thought that it was probably some form of protection against ears not meant for the conversation, perhaps the old man's rune ward had excluded his elven friend also, he saw no need to keep secrecy about it, and if he did he would surely lose her trust entirely.

"When I walked over to eavesdrop on them I thought I was listening in on some kind of meeting, possibly for a group, however I'm now not so sure." He explained, swirling his mead around in the cup, missing the minty taste of the Winterhold brand. "The man in quartered colours was called Sheo, the Dunmer woman, Spider, the Orc 'Orkey' and the Breton, Sam, they all spoke of being here to see, or meet, a male someone."

"That was when the Nords came over." Put in Siva, filling her part of the narrative, "they said they wanted to talk to you, and that they would go after."

Harald nodded, their measure was effective, "All seemed to know I was Dragonborn, but gathered also to asses my power, they were most cryptic."

"The runes?"

"A reading, nothing I did not already guess."

Siva nodded. Her eyes wandered over to the bar, Sam and the old man were still drinking, their backs to Harald and Siva. He looked down into her wine, staring at the dark red liquid in the goblet.

Her brows furrowed, Harald was at once reminded of an identical expression Luna would adopt when thinking hard about something. He furiously squashed the recollection; he was in no mood to recall the faces of dead friends.

Siva looked up suddenly, then back to the cup, then she gasped.

"Tell me more about them!" she insisted suddenly, looking up at Harald.

"The Nords?"

"No," Siva said, nodding to Sam, "Him and his friends."

Harald related the conversation as best he could remember, noting the different names and titles they used for each other and watching in growing worry as Siva's eyes widened slowly.

At the end of his tale the elf began to curse in a harsh language, no doubt the tongue of the Dunmer.

"Six in as many weeks." He muttered, running a hand through her hair.

"Six what?" asked Harald, concerned by her agitated state.

"Princes, Daedric Princes, you have, in six weeks, aroused the attention of no less than half a dozen gods." She explained, "The Mother of Roses is Azura, the Huntsman they spoke of is Hircine, the 'Clavicus' is Clavicus Vile, how did you not know this immediately?" she asked in exasperation.

"Daedric Princes are not common topics of conversation." Replied Harald defensively, but gestured for her to continue.

Siva gave him a withering look but continued her explanation. "The Dunmer that spoke of webs is Mephala, the Webspinner, sister of Hermaeus Mora, the first of who's realm you disturbed that you disturbed."

"The others?"

"The deranged man is Sheogorath, Prince of Madness."

Harald admitted to himself that he probably should have guessed that one.

"The Orc is Malacath, patron of the outcast and father of the Orsimer."

Harald wondered why Malacath was interested in him, he had wandered into Mora's realm, disturbed the web of plots of Melphala, and being Master of Death would be of interest to Azura, Mistress of Life, and Sheogorath probably was there to investigate him and the chaos that he would no doubt create on his arrival, but Malacath seemed to have no stake in the gathering.

Though, thought Harald sadly, the road of an immortal would be a long one, and all his new friends would die, and would leave him an outcast in the world, as was Malacath's sphere.

"And out thirsty friend there?" he asked, indicating Sam with his mug.

"Sanguine, Prince of Revelry." Siva answered quietly.

Sanguine turned round at the sound of his name, even though it was said in a low voice, he smiled and gave a salute with his own drink, then went back to the bar.

Harald thought he seemed a fairly jovial fellow, and not apt to go burning down a town or anything similar that Daedra were apparently wont to do.

"What about the Nords?" asked Harald, no doubt they had their own places in the Nirnian pantheon.

"No idea, your people, your gods." Said Siva with a hint of her former waspishness. "But I should think Divines, they spoke of the Accord, that is the pact that Daedra and Aedra would not fight in the mortal plains, as it caused great destruction,

As Harald understood it, Aedra had created Nirn, the planet, or possibly the plain of existence, he was not sure which, but that Aedra actually meant 'Our Ancestors', those who created the world and then descended to the world to make sure life was continued upon it. Daedra, conversely, meant 'Not Our Ancestors', which Harald thought odd, given that several races were descended from Daedra, particularly in the case of Malacath for the Orcs, or Boethiah, Azura and Melphala in the case of the Dunmer, and were revered because of it.

However, this stream of consciousness was useless, and in the absence of any additional information Harald thought back to Wulfharth's words. The 'Guards of the Dragon' was easy enough, 'Guards of the Dragon': Dragonguard, the forerunners of the Blades, based in the snowy Jerall Mountains in Cyrodiil. He was planning on going there anyway, but not for a few months. 'Speakers of the Dragon' took him a couple of minutes, but was soon worked out, 'Speakers of the Dragon' could be just 'Speakers of Dragon', meaning the language of Dragons, meaning that he could gain assistance, knowledge, something, from people who spoke the dragon language. That was fairly obvious when one thought about it - the Greybeards.

This did not change Harald's plans, but in fact accelerated them, he decided to stay a night in the inn, then depart immediately in the morning, making his way quickly north to Winterhold and his fleet. He would take his ships and sail for Solitude, then take a carriage to Whiterun, then through Pale Pass and onto Cloud Ruler Temple, citadel of the Blades. After all, neither the skeleton of Numenix, nor the Greybeards were going anywhere, and he could go back to them at his leisure.

Or perhaps it would be better to go to the Greybeards first? That way he might learn the Way of the Voice, and the ability to Shout, that would make the Blades, if not trust him, but be interested in him, meaning he might be accepted more easily, he would give it further thought as he travelled, it was not urgent to do so now. Either the Blades of the Greybeards could give him council and aid it appeared, and he had only to choose which to go to first.

Presently he and Siva dinned on a thick, tasty broth with chunks of bread, it was a supremely wholesome meal, as befitted such a warm Hall. The stew was primarily composed of potatoes, carrots and grains of some kind, barley, Harald thought. This was washed down with more mead, it being difficult to get water at this time of night. Siva by this time was almost tipsy, her cheeks becoming darker against her already dark skin.

After this they rented a room at a moderate price and went to bed. Harald found the bed of an adequate size, contrary to his expectations. He had, in later life, found beds to be constantly too small due to his height he had acquired soon after his twentieth birthday. However, Nords were larger than Englishmen, and they made beds to an appropriate size for him. His mattress was filled with feathers rather than straw, and made for a comfortable, if prickly, night.

As Harald drifted off to sleep his mind went over the momentous events of the day, it was a good day, all accounted, and he had enjoyed it, and learnt many new things that he might otherwise have missed had he decided to just stay in his house, or investigate a cave or something similar. Unbidden to his mind came in faces of the dead and swirled around him in a dream.

His parents, first in the Mirror of Erised, then in spectral form, draw forth by the Ring.

The Weasleys, half of them happy, laughing, half dead or angry with him.

Hermionie, screaming at him after the conclusion of the Muggleborn Rebellion, telling him how ashamed he had been to have called him a brother, her husband Ron looking awkward but staying silent.

The Lupins, three generations of them, smiling sadly.

A crowd of students and staff, seated at the House benches after listening to the Sorting Hat's song.

Finally Luna, white hair floating on a breeze, blue eyes staring out at him, little mouth set in a slight smile. She walked up to him, pale dress stirred by the dream-wind.

"Harry."

She shook his shoulder.

"Harry!"

More insistently she shook him.

"Wake up."

Harald woke, coming upright and into consciousness at the same time.

He groggily looked round, instead of Luna the much more physical Siva was touching his shoulder.

"Come see!" she told him excitedly, then ran out the room, a flash of red hair being the only sign of her presence.

Harald pulled his blanket around his shoulders, not taking his other accoutrements as he doubted an attack, and walked down the stairs out into the chilly Windhelm night. He saw Siva sitting some way off, perched on a set of stone steps; he went to join her, sitting down beside the elf.

"Wait for it." She whispered in answer to his question of the purpose of their excursion.

He looked up, following her eyes past the great tall walls and past the thatched and slated roofs of the houses, past the highest tower of the Palace of Kings.

In the sky, just emerging from the pale light of dawn to the east was a ribbon of colour. A green band that stretched the length of the land. Yellow streaks ran through it, and soon other ribbons joined it, fluttering about the mountains and around the clouds above them.

Harald forgot the cold as a huge spiralling rainbow circled the peaks of the mountains, the moon shone in the sky and red streams danced across its light, meeting blue garlands from the north, fluttering and dancing together, entwining to form the most magnificent of purples.

Soon after Harald raised a hand to add to the conflagration, his silver dragon shot out, flapping silently to join the colours in the sky, before he could lower his arm Siva snuggled into his shoulder, taking advantage of his warmth and draped blanket. He happily lowed his arm around her, and they watched the stars together, the lights lasting for long hours in the sky, bottoms just tipping the vale of pine trees in light that would be remembered for years, a silver dragon making its way slowly all the way through the conflagration, soaring majestically through the starlight and departing finally with the lights as the dawn came.