The burning of the basilisk venom was beginning to fade as his vision went dark. Harry hoped that Fawkes would go and get help, at least for Ginny, it was too late for him. Even as he started to feel cold and closed his eyes Harry felt the sudden weight of Fawkes on his chest. The last thing he heard before his soul slipped from his body was the flapping of wings and the mischievous tinkling laugh of a woman..
"Arkay! I need to know if a soul has left your realm and already been granted entry to its resting place or recycled! Immediately!" Akatosh shouted loudly as he slid into the single area of Oblivion that was shared amongst both Aedra and Daedra; the Joining Room. It was modeled after a large banquet room and no one member of either pantheon had more power over the miniature realm than the other.
"I do my duties in a diligent manner, Lord Father," Arkay answered. "Not all of us have the privilege of stopping time in order to finish paperwork. Any soul that comes into my Realm is processed in a matter of seconds. Whatever soul you wish for is no longer within my reach. If the soul was sworn to one of the Princes perhaps you can bargain with them for it back."
"He wasn't!" Akatosh burst before he sighed heavily. "It was the dragonborn. The last dragonborn. He was killed about a day ago. I was," the Dragon God's eyes flicked to the figure of Dibella who was currently flirting with Sanguine, "Distracted and didn't notice right away. Fucking Thalmor, believe they are doing the work of 'Auri-El' but refuse to acknowledge the fact that the humans worship me as Akatosh and the dragonborn was fucking mine!" Akatosh's temper was back.
"Perhaps I could help," a female voice said and Akatosh turned.
"Nocturnal," Akatosh acknowledged while doing his best to discreetly check his pockets. Her laugh was a soft tinkling when she noticed. Looking up when Nocturnal laughed, Akatosh noticed that the Joining Room was quite a bit fuller than it had been when he first entered. "Did everyone come to gawk?"
"You underestimate the volume of your own voice brother," Mara said. She sat on Stendarr's lap. "Some of us came to see what we could do to support you, others I believe came to rubberneck."
"Yes, yes, entertainment, but now the world is going to end, you do realize that without worshipers we end too right?" Clavicus Vile said his near constant companion was surprisingly not with him.
"Like I was saying," Nocturnal began. "Perhaps I could help."
"How exactly?" Akatosh moaned. "I can't make just any soul dragonborn, especially as I can't do so while it's forming a body in a womb. My firstborn returns in a week and a baby could do nothing against him. Do you know how difficult it is to manipulate an already secure soul? It would still have to be a child, and then I'd still have to find one whose soul is strong enough to accept my power within its own and strong enough to stand against Alduin within three or at most four years of training their Voice."
"So a soul, unattached, that hasn't yet gone through a recycle or wipe, powerful enough to contain a sliver of your own power," Nocturnal said.
"Exactly!" Akatosh snarled. "Impossible."
"Not if I steal it," Nocturnal said with a grin.
"The souls that go to Arkay are wiped to fast, and any soul that is under another's domain is far too stable to be reborn without a wipe even if they fit every other parameter else I'd have just pulled a hero from Shor's Hall," Akatosh said, despondent.
"Who said, I'm stealing one of our souls?" Nocturnal asked. "If I steal a soul from another universe and most of us put a little bit of our power in him or her in the form of boons then we can put them in Mundus and on Tamriel and even if we eventually get caught we can't be forced to give them up." Akatosh thought for a moment.
"That just might work," Akatosh said with surprise.
"Of course it will," Nocturnal said proudly. "Now just give me a second to pop out and find what we need. Oh this will be the heist of an era," she cackled as she faded from the joining room.
Harry became strangely aware, what felt like only moments after he had passed out. He didn't feel human, or rather shaped like a human. He felt wispy but almost condensed, like an orb of some sort. It was peculiar. However he quickly moved on trying not to focus on exactly how he could be aware of anything when he did not actually have a body and therefore a brain. Wherever he was it was warm, two squishy things on either side of him in the dark. He snuggled, or at least what felt like a snuggle, in close and let his thoughts drift until he heard voices and focused in again.
Suddenly he was lifted out of the dark place. Though he had no eyes he could see all around him now that he was in the light and had he any eyes they would have widened upon the realization that he'd been tucked in the cleavage of a very beautiful woman.
"You actually found one," a half dragon man said in almost reverent wonder.
"Did you doubt me Akatosh?" the woman holding Harry asked.
"A little," Akatosh answered, gently taking Harry the orb from her. "Let's see who you were, little one," the dragon man continued as he set Harry gently on a long altar table of some sort. Suddenly it felt like Harry was reliving the memories of his life in vivid detail. Even things he had long forgotten, like playing with a rather strange looking orange cat at the feet of his mother and father or the time he'd made the roof of his little cupboard room glow dimly so that he didn't have to be afraid of the dark. Though it felt like nearly thirteen years had passed it seemed to be only a few seconds, and the whispering of many voices brought him back to the reality of the present and the fact that he was Harry the Orb rather than Harry the Boy-Who-Lived.
"He'll be near as serviceable as the original dragonborn," Akatosh said as clawed hands began to prod at Harry. "Sorry little one this is gonna hurt a bit." The dragon man had severely understated the pain his actions were about to bring. If Harry had had a proper mouth he'd have screamed till he'd passed out from lack of air. The claws were poking into him deeply as though trying to furrow a hole into his center. The claws withdrew and though it still hurt Harry thought it was over, that was until Akatosh brought the orb that was Harry up to his snout and spoke into the hole he created. If Harry had thought the pain of the basilisk venom was bad it was nothing compared to this. He didn't even have the comfort of being able to fall unconscious. Finally Harry was set back down on the altar table doing his best to pull everything he was in tighter, the equivalent of a small creature tucking itself into a ball and whimpering.
"I am sorry for the pain little one," Akatosh said, "You are Dragonborn now," before whispering two words that seemed to reverberate throughout Harry and dull the pain to near nothing, "Numb Faaz."
"Just a matter of those of us willing to do so, give him a boon and then a body and he'll be ready," Nocturnal said.
"Oh, oh, me first," the husky voice of the most beautiful lady Harry had ever laid eyes on, not that he currently had eyes, begged. Dibella as she was named did indeed go first, and gently caressed Harry as she spoke down to him and moved her power within him.
"You'll be gorgeous. Of course there aren't many Snow Elves left in the world, but of all the races they simply embody the aspects of beauty and harmony the most. It is truly a pity that the Dwemer tricked so many of them into becoming a mere shadow of themselves." She hummed softly as Harry felt himself forming into a body. Soon enough Harry was able to sit up under his own power. He took stock of what he looked like, hands reaching up to his face to catalog much sharper features than he was used to. That wasn't even to mention his skin color which had once been a warm honey tone and was now a cool pale ivory. His hair was long, near to the ends of his shoulder blades and bone straight. It was no longer a deep brown verging on black but instead a blond so light it neared white. Glancing at the reflective silver disk that hung from a chain between Dibella's breasts he could see that his eyes were a vivid blue. Harry's thoughts were filled with the near hysterical idea of being made into a Malfoy, only for the reality of having died before being here. Surprisingly he cared more for this than the fact that he was naked.
For that Harry had always pretended to be slow, a self taught protective behavior, he was actually quite intelligent. Clearly the beings around him were gods of some sort, though not any he recognized. He was being given a new body, one that was a race he didn't even know and had been made into what Akatosh called Dragonborn. It was clear that he was being reborn. It was also clear that this was not a normal occurrence. Several of the beings around him for this to happen often. Harry was also sure that most people being reborn didn't keep their memories or else there would be at least a few stories about them. After all he couldn't truly be the first to do so could he?
A man clad in pelts and furs with an antlered hide helm atop his head stepped forward next. Before he could place his hand on Harry's chest Akatosh stopped him.
"He can't have your gift of beast blood, at least not yet," Akatosh said. "His age, the fact that his soul won't truly be stable for at least another four years when he turns sixteen, and the fact that he now has a dovah soul all of that coupled with the beast blood and we could end up right back at the beginning."
"Fair enough," Hircine said, "But I reserve the right to offer it to him again at a later time, for now I'll just give him the ears and nose of the beast, that doesn't seem like enough, however only an investment in his future." The fur clad man looked at Harry again a little more speculatively. "I may need help with the boon I'm to grant then." The Hunter looked to a very tall scholarly looking man before continuing. "He has magic of his own but it's not connected to our world. I want to link them. He wouldn't be able to access the breadth of the spells he would have in his old world but as we all saw from his earliest memories that his father had a separate shape. While not blessed by the beast blood like the one they called Moony, I still wish to give that to the boy. If we can link his magic to that of Mundus, he could achieve such a transformation himself. If you agree, of course Julianos."
"I will help, it is a good boon. I will add my own to it while we grant it. He will understand and be able to read all languages. I cannot however give him the ability to speak them, he will have to learn the muscle movements required to produce the various forms of speech himself. Although thankfully he will not be thrown completely in the deep end. The majority of the people of Tamriel speak at least the common in addition to their mother tongues, or English as he would know it. It's why we are speaking in this language in front of him is it not?" Julianos said before stepping towards the hip height altar table. The tall scholarly man knelt before where Harry sat so that his head came up to Harry's chest. "Did you understand the boon we are to grant you young man?" Julianos asked.
"Yes, um Lord Julianos," Harry said, a little surprised at the light and somewhat breathy voice that he now had. The god smiled at him and touched a hand to Harry's chest. Harry could feel the power rushing into him as though someone had poured water directly beneath his skin. His brain felt strange as information he didn't know only seconds before imprinted itself directly into the organ. There was a pulling sensation somewhere just over the area where his heart sat and as the seconds went by the pressure became stronger and stronger before the barrier that was holding the power back snapped and a different pool of power, this one more wild than the power Julianos had been pouring into him spread through his body. Everything calmed after a moment or two as Hircine stepped forward and caressed Harry's tapered left ear. There was a slight burning sensation that was not altogether painful but certainly noticeable. As Hircine stepped away Harry's fingers found it and brushed gently over a slightly raised patch of skin that seemed to form an image of half of a stag's antler.
"My mark," Hircine said. "You may not be one of my followers but if I'm to be responsible for giving you a boon I will mark you. We Daedric Princes are possessive that way." Harry gave a nod as though he understood even though he really didn't. Akatosh, Dibella and Julianos hadn't marked him, or at least not his skin like Hircine. As though knowing Harry's thoughts Julianos spoke.
"I think you'll find us Aedric Divines are similarly possessive but we do not have to mark anything to know it's ours. Now rather than arguing over who's more possessive, take a look at the magical potential he now has. Both his own core and his ability to draw on the magicka of mundus. He's nearly untrained and yet has the power of all but the most powerful of battle mages." All of the beings looked at Harry curiously before a dark gray skinned lady stepped forward.
"Having such magic means one needs always to exert great control over oneself. My name Azura and my boon to you little one, is that you shall always find mental calm during the hour of dusk and dawn. I also swear to guard your dreams," Azura glared at a dark cloaked woman even as she said the last sentence. She ran her hand through Harry's hair and he could have sworn he saw it take on a silver sheen but he wasn't entirely sure as it was quite faint.
"Well I can see I'm not wanted," the dark cloaked lady said before literally fading out.
"Good riddance," a male in robes said. "Never liked Vaermina. Now my turn." The man took the space that Azura vacated. "Now I am not able to give you a large boon child. I am Arkay, god of the cycles, and therefore of balance as well. However my boon is that any corpse that you have a hand in making, burying or blessing will never be able to be raised by a necromancer even if one of my priests is not there to do the rituals to prevent it." Harry's eyes were wide. What kind of world was he going to that there were necromancers? What kind of world was he going to that it would be likely that he'd be making, burying or blessing a body? Harry didn't get much time to think on that as a slightly hunched man who had the look of a mad scientist pushed Arkay to the side and pressed a kiss to Harry's lips. The man blurred and shifted into a very severe looking man in a suit who screamed and threw himself away from Harry even as something burned momentarily on his ankle. The man shifted back into the crazy scientist looking man and gave a wiggling wave to Harry whilst he giggled and faded away.
Looking down at his ankle Harry found a blush colored butterfly tattoo, skin still slightly tender and raised as the tattoo behind his ear. Briefly he wondered what color the tattoo behind his ear was. He fidgeted as the beings around him remained silent just looking at him.
"Anyone know what the mad man gave him?" Akatosh asked in a voice that was somewhat nervous. A mass of tentacles with eyes moved forward and Harry stilled as several of them slid almost oily over his skin.
"From what I can see he placed a curse on the boy's soul. It translates directly as 'may you live in interesting times'. It tips his luck greatly in that he will often be finding himself in strange situations but tips it again to make it more likely he will find his way out of them," the tentacles said, which was impressive as Harry couldn't see a mouth. He didn't like the sound of the curse even if it sounded like he could escape the situations that he would inevitably find himself in. He wondered if perhaps the crazy god hadn't actually cursed him and the curse had already been there, it would certainly explain a few things. "It could be what he needs in order to train him enough to face your firstborn Akatosh."
"I hope you're right, Hemaeus," Akatosh said somewhat resignedly. Julianos snorted.
"Haven't you learned anything by now? Mora is always right," the scholar god said. A tentacle brushed across Harry's cheek and up to his forehead. There was suddenly a stabbing pain as though a spike had pierced his forehead but Harry couldn't move. Akatosh lunged forward but Arkay and a large warrior man held him back.
"Don't Akatosh," the warrior said. "I don't like that he didn't ask either but forcefully prying him off will only hurt the boy, maybe even send him madder than Sheo."
"I don't often say it, I'll admit, but Talos is right," Julianos said.
"Not to worry," Hermaeus Mora said in his rumbling yet near silky toned voice. "A simple exchange of information. I am creating a memory based backstory of his life in Tamriel, in Skyrim in particular. His parents are still dead of course, though for him only a few weeks ago in these memories, and he is still an only child. They lived alone in the mountains. Now he's all alone. These memories won't overwrite his true ones of course, but they'll give him something to draw on when questioned."
"That's not exactly a boon," Akatosh pointed out. "After all he's paying for it in his knowledge of a world unknown to you is he not."
"Very well, I will give him a proper boon in addition to these memories," Hermaeus said with a sigh. "Do not grant this boon very often little dragonborn. In fact I've only granted it to one other. He's much like you. He's mine of course and I certainly don't plan on letting him go, but I will grant you the same gift. While the amount of skill learned will not be great, you will find yourself learning far more than most simply by reading books, even those that are not spell books, or textbooks." As the tentacle that had pierced his forehead withdrew and the spiking pain eased away Harry felt a slight burning on the back of his right hand and saw that an inky green black eye symbol had appeared, the new tattoo sitting very stark on his porcelain skin.
The warrior Talos was the next to step forward.
"Before you leave Mora, I may need your help. I wish to share some of my military knowledge with him. It is quite a bit so perhaps we could arrange for the memories to come like dreams, allowing him to learn as he sleeps," Talos said.
"Perhaps," Hermaeus said. "But what do I get from it?"
"What is it you want?" Talos asked.
"What I always want; knowledge. I know little of your birthplace, Atmora. In exchange for your knowledge on the land I will help," Mora said.
"Deal," Talos said. Tentacles pierced both Talos and Harry, but it didn't last near as long for Harry as for Talos, the two beings moving together out of the way so the others could continue with Harry. The most wizened of all the beings stepped forwards and took Harry's much smaller hands in his own.
"Hello young Harry," the being said. "I'm Zenithar, the god of merchants and smiths." A small amount of power began pouring into Harry from their connected point at his hands. "My boon to you is that anything created by you, whether a physical or conceptual item will always recognize you and have a slight alliance to you. It will make it hard for any to turn the fruits of your labors against you." Harry couldn't help but smile at the aged looking god.
"Thank-you, Lord Zenithar," Harry whispered, speaking for the first time in almost half an hour. Letting go of Harry's hands Zenithar brushed some of Harry's hair away from his face and cupped Harry's cheek in a fatherly gesture.
"You'll do well child, us Divines will be looking over you, and though some of them may pretend not, a few of the Princes will be watching too," the Merchant God said as he moved away. A second warrior god stepped forwards.
"As the dragonborn you will become a public figure even if you try to avoid your fame. My boon to you is to always know when you are being deceived by another's words. I am Stendarr the Pillar of Justice. I bid you to bring justice to those who try to manipulate you with lies and untruths," Stendarr said. Harry nodded and the stern god stepped back. An androgynous god stepped forwards only for Stendar to step back in front of Harry and Talos, who had completed his exchange with Hemaeus Mora and now held a sword pointed at the androgynous god's back.
"Boethiah," Talos began carefully. "We may not be able to kill you, but we can still chop you up and scatter you across Oblivion. You'll be reforming for most of the next era. I suggest you not give a boon that would prove harmful to our young charge." Even as the Warrior god stepped back, four beings who had not yet spoken to Harry faded away.
"Good riddance," Akatosh said. "Can't think of anything positive those four could give and I certainly will never trust Dagon after the Oblivion Crisis."
"Lady Corpse Breath would probably give him some delightfully incurable disease," a flaky skinned man with a little rat on his shoulder said.
"Namira always was your favorite sister, wasn't she Peryite?" Stendarr asked rhetorically.
"Personally," Dibella said. "I would fear more what Mephala and her husband Bal would have done to him. The essence of destruction the two of them are, and absolutely terrible when they aren't fighting and instead are working together. They'd probably have destroyed all of the harmony, beauty and grace I gave the poor darling."
"All is well and good," Talos interrupted. "As long as Boethiah is very careful with their next moves." Rather than speaking to Talos, Boethiah turned to Harry and spoke directly to him.
"I deal in deceit, treachery and sedition, and there is little I can give you that my fellows would not find distaste in. I can however expand a gift you have already been given. Stendarr has given you the boon of knowing when someone lies to you, I will allow you to see the deceptions unspoken such as those written in letter or even those told in body language. I hope you seek me out, little mortal, as my champion we could have a great deal of fun." Boethian left their mark, a single red dot, like a droplet of fresh blood on the meat of Harry's left thumb.
"I shall give my gift next." The woman who spoke stepped forward. She was comely and her eyes held a softness to them that Harry had never seen directed toward him ever. "I cannot give you parents, not in this life, you will have to find a family on your own. But I can make it easier. I am Mara the Mother of Marriage and Goddess of Sacred Love, Handmaiden of Kynareth, sometimes called the Hearthborn. I know your desire for a family and a home, and I can sense your hope. My boon shall rest upon the place you choose to call home. There you will always find peace and sanctuary.
"My handmaiden has granted you a great boon," another woman stepped forward. "And I shall grant you another. The animals of Tamriel shall recognize your kindness. Though this does not mean that wild ones will not attack you should you antagonize them first or are with others whom they may see as a threat. However even the most sacred of places and their guardians will allow you an audience should you remain peaceful. You will find you have a much easier ability should you wish to tame an animal as a companion. In addition I swear that I shall send my winds to help you when I can," Kynareth said. A ring, a thin band of delicate silver appeared on Harry's left pinky. "My Ring of the Wind so that I might always know where to send my wind for help."
The boons from both Kynareth and Mara were enough to make Harry's eyes water deeply.
"Thank-you Lady Kynareth, Lady Mara," Harry whispered. A light breeze gently tousled Harry's hair, and both women smiled at them even as another stepped up.
"I have little to give you that Arkay has not already done so. Like him I loathe the undead and those who seek to create them." She touched the temple opposite of where his famous scar had once sat and he felt a mark growing there. "A starburst, a reminder of Meridia's light to those who might see you. When you are ready and strong enough to undertake the journey I will lead you to Dawnbreaker, my sacred sword. With it you will purge the world of the walking dead."
"Well littlest of my little brothers," a man stepped forwards as Meridia left. "I can't give you a gift exactly. It would be hypocritical of me when I make my people complete a task before giving them a boon. One could say you failed your task with the basilisk, but I can acknowledge that you were both untrained, malnourished and are still quite young. I will however mark you with the same mark that once ostracized you and made people place you on a pedestal in your old life." As the man touched Harry's unmarked temple he could feel the burning sensation of a new mark, this one in the familiar branching insignia of lightning reaching from clouds to the ground. "Perhaps you will have a chance to prove yourself again. I look forward to it." With that the man was gone.
"I know he thinks we ostracized him on purpose but does Malacath ever actually attempt to stay and converse with anyone?" one of the men still in the room that hadn't spoken directly to Harry yet asked.
"I'm pretty sure he likes his 'little brothers' the Orsimer better than any of us," Akatosh said. "Please can we hurry this along and cut the unnecessary side talk? God of Time I might be but even I have deadlines."
"Shows what you know," the other man grumbled. "Small talk is an essential part of any deal."
"We aren't making deals, Clavicus," Stendarr said. "Akatosh is right, get on with it."
"Alright alright," the Clavicus Vile said, stepping up to Harry. "Well aren't you a scrawny one. Anyways your boon, well you already can't be lied to by word or parchment but that doesn't mean you can't be tricked. Very well, you will see the hidden features of any deal or contract you might make. Pity that might be turned against me in time." Vile brushed a finger behind Harry's right ear and marked him opposite of Hircine's earlier mark. Touching it once the god faded Harry found raised tender skin in the form of a tiny paw print just barely the size of the pad of his thumb.
Peryite stepped forward next only for Stendarr to step in front of the flaky man with a rat in a move that was reminiscent of the way he had treated Boethiah.
"I know, I know, don't give him any diseases or anything else that the rest of you deem as 'bad'. I am the Prince of Balance as well as plague you know. I didn't see you doing this to Arkay," Peryite whined. Stendarr stood in Peryite's way for a moment more before allowing the god to pass. "Now I won't touch you directly, I have a few too many things that can pass too easily with just a touch, but in a second you'll be immune to them all, won't that be wonderfully boring. You'll find that poisons are not as effective against you. I warn you that the downfall of this resistance is that alcohol doesn't have the same effect of dulling the senses and making you drunk in that way that all morals seem to love. Anyways, toodles." Peryite disappeared as a black and white ouroboros seared itself on his hip.
"That fucker," said a man dressed almost as scantily as Dibella only where the goddess showed of beauty with just a hint of sensuality, this man oozed sex and lust. "The boy's never had the opportunity to get drunk and now he never will. Fine then I'll just have to ensure you enjoy the other indulgences of life." Harry gasped as warm hands suddenly ran across his body. While he'd been naked the entire time he never felt as compromised as he did now. He could feel his body moving and shaping much like when Dibella had made him this body and then suddenly it was over. "There, that looks good. Gave you your green eyes back. They are far more alluring than blue. . Rare here in Skyrim too. Most Nords have blue eyes. Now you've got pretty pear hips and a bit more definition to that skinny face, much more desirable. Snow elves don't see much in the way of body hair and now you never will. You're welcome, you can't imagine the time it takes to manscape. You'll always be little, there's always someone who likes that. Oh can't forget my mark." The man's hands were suddenly back on Harry, touching his pelvis dangerously close to an appendage Harry certainly did not want him to touch. When the man pulled one hand away Harry looked down to see a small stylised rose on the left most side of the cradle of his pelvis. The man went to move his other hand lower and though Stendarr, Talos, and Akatosh all moved forward to stop him it was Dibella who took him in hand, literally.
The beautiful woman gripped his crotch in a tight and most definitely painful grip.
"Unless you want to lose your favorite toy Sanguine, I suggest you start asking for consent," Dibella said, her normally tranquil face wrathful as she twisted her grip. Sanguine yelped and wriggled disappearing. "My apologies young man. No one should ever touch you so intimately without your consent, even if they are as lacking in self-restraint as Sanguine. Unfortunately there will always be those desperate, or cruel few who care not for the wants of others and only themselves." Dibella pressed a kiss to Harry's head and suddenly there was cloth covering him. He had a pair of very loose pants that looked to be made of some very thin linen, the tan cloth matching the white open robe that sat on his shoulders. He was still barefoot and his chest was still visible as the goddess of beauty had not given him a shirt with the robe. "There, perfectly fashionable, absolutely divine, and I would know. We are almost done; however, only Nocturnal is left. She is the one who brought you here. She stole you from your world's death god's clutches."
"It was the biggest heist I've ever pulled," the final woman said, presumably Nocturnal. This was the woman whose breasts he had sat within while he was still an orb and that thought caused Harry to blush. "And I have two boons. The first is to grant you the Thieves Luck. I believe you'll need it. The second boon is to grant something I have never done. When you do finally pass, I will return your soul to where it was supposed to rest. Never have I returned something I have won through thievery and never again shall I. Even should you swear yourself into the service of me or one of my fellow Princes, I will return you though they won't know." She smirked. "That's why I waited till last when they'd all left." Nocturnal pressed a hand over his heart and a stylised light gray skeleton key appeared on his skin.
"Now it's just a matter of finding the right place to put you," Akatosh said, claw tapping at a scale on his chin.
"Where is Alduin to appear?" Mara asked.
"Quite near to the large human town of Helgen," Akatosh asked. "I can't simply have the child appear directly in the city however, especially not courtesy of the race that Dibella gave him. He has to at least seem to come from somewhere, perhaps the foot of the Archwind Mountains? Close enough to the Imperial Soldier Camp that has been set up that he can theoretically stumble upon it and ask for help." Akatosh turned to Harry. "This is the last thing we can do to help you directly. Good luck child, you may not have been born of me originally, but you are still my child. Go fourth last dragonborn, and fulfill the words spoken so long ago." Harry's world went black.
Harry woke up laying on the ground. Sitting up carefully and looking around he was a little surprised at the clean scent that surrounded him. Even at Hogwarts so far away from the exhaust born of muggle innovation there were still scents and signs of human habitation, this wooded area he'd woken in had none of that. Behind him were cliffs and Harry supposed that these were the mountains that Akatosh had spoken of before sending him here. It was a different world and Harry didn't exactly know how to feel about that. There was however nothing he could do about it.
Harry wasn't able to sit looking at his surroundings very long. Clouds covered the sky blotting out the sunlight and though it wasn't a deluge it was most certainly raining. Though mentally Harry knew he should be feeling cold in the rain, he merely felt wet as though his body felt no chill. It was possible that he had a resistance to cold, Harry supposed. He'd never felt cold in the memories he'd been given. The memories Hermaeus Mora had given him depicted Harry living with two beautiful elves, his parents, in an ice cave high in the who told him to run as they tried to hold off a horde of forsaken in the Southfringe Mountains.
The Southfringe Mountains were all of the mountains west of the Arcwind Point while the Arcwind Mountains were those east of it. They made up the entirety of the Southern Border Mountain Range of Skyrim. All of this information was in his head and wasn't his own. They weren't even Herewe Nordras, the name he had in these memories. They were Hermaeus Mora's imaginings. Yet all the same, he felt deep sorrow in mentally viewing them. Even here in this new world he was still an orphan. For a moment Harry pondered his new name wondering if he should keep it or stick with the name Harry Potter. With a deep breath he decided. Harry Potter had died. His body lay in the Chamber of Secrets. He was Herewe Nordras now.
His open robe thankfully had a hood that he quickly put up to keep his head from getting overly wet. As though that was an invitation the sky seemingly opened up and the rain came down in a downpour. Picking a direction away from the foot of the mountains Herewe hoped that this was the direction of the soldier camp Akatosh had mentioned. His memories held nothing but the cave and a small amount of the mountain he'd spent his life so far on and he had no idea where he was going, beyond that it was mostly straight away from the mountains.
Thankfully his memories had magic, and though it took a moment or two he cast a spell that he remembered the mother Hermaeus had given him, had taught him; Candlelight. With an orb of light at his shoulder just barely feeding off the pool of magicka Herewe continued forward. Then he cast a spell his father had taught him, Bound Dagger. He may not have been allowed to go far from the cave but both of his parents always said that to ever walk unarmed was to court death. Along with Flames, Healing, Frostbite, Bound Dagger and Candlelight were the first spells he'd ever been taught. He could also remember learning Ice Spike, Calm and Lesser Ward at the hands of his parents and even that his father had been trying to teach him how to Conjure Familiar before the Betrayed had attacked. It wasn't a lot of magic but hopefully it would be enough to get him somewhere safe. His memories also let him know that the world that he was now in was even further behind than the wizarding world which was locked somewhere between the renaissance and the beginning of the industrial era. Here they were quite firmly entrenched in the medieval age.
The evening was obviously coming and with the storm continuing it grew ever darker until even with the light of his spell Herewe could barely see where his feet were stepping let alone more than a few feet in front of himself. Mentioning feet, his were in great pain. With nothing to protect them as he walked barefoot across the forest floor they had quickly grown tender and scratched as every stone, thorn and branch seemed to find its way underneath them. It had been at least four hours since Herewe had first started walking and he was certain that he had gone the wrong way initially, although he couldn't even tell if he'd been walking in circles with everything too dark to see if it looked the same.
When Herewe found the road it was because he tripped over it. So concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, that he wasn't able to get his hands up fast enough to keep his face from smashing into the cobblestones. Rolling over onto his side and gingerly touching his now bloody nose, he was only marginally relieved to find it not broken. It took a great deal of effort to get back onto his feet, between his face and feet Herewe was in a great deal of pain.
He was ready to just sit back down on the road in the rain and wait until someone found him. There was a breeze now and though he didn't feel the cold it was blowing the rain directly in his face. He turned all the way around only for the wind to redirect. He turned all the way around again only for it to happen again and then realized exactly what it was. Lifting the hand that held the Ring of Wind thatKynareth had given him up, he looked at it. Even though he had lost concentration and his Candlelight spell was no longer active the ring seemed to be giving off a slight glow. As Herewe shifted so that the rain wasn't in his face he noticed the ring got a little brighter when he faced a certain direction. Testing his theory he took a step in the direction and it flashed twice.
"Thank-you Lady Kynareth," Herewe whispered as he continued walking in the direction that she was leading him. He cast Candlelight again along with his Bound Dagger when he realized she was leading him somewhere off the road. Thankfully it wasn't far. The shed-like little home had certainly seen better days but it served as shelter. It was clear with the light of Candlelight that the shack hadn't been inhabited for some time, there were however a few things that Herewe could make immediate use of.
On the shelves there were a few loaves of hardened and long molded bread and what might possibly have once been a cabbage. There were also a few jars of what looked like pickled carrots and what looked like pickled eggs. On a smaller shelving unit were a variety of mushrooms, herbs and flowers that Herewe recognized from his mother's amateur potion making. There was also a nearly full barrel of water in the shack. It was certainly stale but it was clean enough to drink. Along with a small table and chair as well as a bed covered with straw and a large fur, there was a cupboard that Herewe peeked through. Inside was only the remains of several moth-eaten robes.
Stripping down naked Herewe hung his very wet clothing up on the back of the chair. He removed one of the moth eaten robes from the cupboard and ripped it into rags and dipping a few into the clean water to begin the arduous task of cleaning and binding his injured feet as well as cleaning his tender nose. Once he was finished he opened the jar of pickled eggs and ate three before pulling out another one of the robes and curling up underneath it on the bed.
The rain did not stop over the night but thankfully for as ramshackle as the shack seemed to be the roof was in good condition and Herewe didn't suffer water leaking in while he slept except where the door and the uncovered window were. Thankfully both were away from the bed. Unfortunately the rain continued on into the next day, or rather what he assumed was the next day as Herewe felt he had slept an entire night when he awoke to the same dark cloud covered sky. Rather than get his still damp cloths wet again Herewe walked naked around the outside of the shed looking for sticks and other detritus he could bring inside the shack and use to attempt to make a small fire for warmth inside the shack. It was even better that he found a small stack of firewood slightly under the eaves of the shack and therefore not as wet as everything else. He pulled it in quickly and stacked it inside before placing the driest of the pieces in a teepee stacking the center of the dirt floor and pulled his magicka together to cast a weak Flames just strong enough for the wood to catch.
Herewe spent what he believed to be three nights in the shack before the food ran out. He found a dead butterfly that had been captured in a jar along with a leatherbound journal, the ink on the pages a little faded but still legible. Reading it he learned a little bit about the man Llaras, who had lived and worked in the shack before, at least as it appeared so in the journal, going out to fetch more mushrooms and not returning. Herewe felt less guilty for eating the man's food and using his things after that. Though it was far too wet to attempt to use the alchemy table outside, not that Herewe had ever actually used any, his mother was more akin to poultices and pastes than potions as they didn't own one, the journal did have a lot of good information and a few recipes that seemed to stick in Herewe's head, another one of Hermaeus's gifts.
As to Talos's gift Herewe had had dreams as though he was Talos although they were mostly innocuous dreams so far. He dreamed of leaving his home, the island of Atmora at only five with his mother after his father had gone on a sea raid and never returned home. They'd gone to Skyrim, a country that was just as beautiful as Atmora but had many wild creatures that made it far more deadly. Herewe had learned a lot about such creatures through these dreams and though so far he had only heard of them and never seen them, through dream or otherwise, he never wanted to see a shadowcat or a troll.
Though it was still raining when Herewe woke up after the third night he knew he couldn't stay holed up in the shack much longer. Thankfully, although the sky was still showing its displeasure via the clouds, the rain was much more of a wet drizzle than the out pour it had been for the past couple of days. He ate the last of the pickled carrots and did his best to rinse out the ceramic jar before filling it up with fresh water. He did the same for the jar that had once held the pickled eggs. He'd repurposed another of the old robes into a sort of makeshift pack and placed the things he planned to carry with him inside. That included the now full jar of water. Herewe was not unused to going hungry and knew that when food was unavailable one could survive on water, at least for a while.
Into the pack went the other jar of water, along with the final two robes which he might find use for later. After a little bit of deliberation he also put the journal into the pack as well. There was a chance that maybe just maybe he'd find the man who owned the shack or perhaps even a relative and then Herewe could thank them and maybe find a way to pay them back. With all that done Herewe used a bucket to put out the fire and pulled the hood of his no longer entirely white robe over his head.
He made it back to the road without much problem, the shack wasn't all that far away from it after all. It was when he got to the road that he ran into a problem. He had no idea which direction he was meant to be going and he got no response from the ring he wore even when he asked out loud if Kynareth could direct him. He supposed it was the god's way of telling him they couldn't do everything for him. Eventually Herewe chose to follow the road in the direction that seemed to go just a little more down the foothill that Herewe was on, remembering that Akatosh had placed him near the foot of the mountains because the soldier camp was located at their base. Hopefully this meant he was going in the right direction.
Though his feet were wrapped in the rags of one of the robes they soon became sore, not being truly healed of their wounds from his first day tromping through the woods. Thankfully the clouds did start to ease up and by what was probably midday the sun was out to try and dry up the puddles and mud that had been left behind.
Herewe was unsure how long he'd been walking before he caught the smell of smoke, meat and unwashed sweat. He wondered why he couldn't see anyone even as he began to hear the clank of what was likely steel against steel, likely men practicing at the soldier's camp Akatosh had spoken of. It didn't take long for Herewe to remember that Hircine had given him the ears and nose of the beast blood. Though he didn't actually know what that meant, his nose and ears hadn't physically changed when Hircine had done so, so perhaps it had just made those two senses stronger. Herewe stepped off the cobbled road towards where the sound was coming from. It was muddy and slick and his foot wraps were soon useless. He simply untied them, left them where they were and continued walking though he disliked that dirt was getting into the scratches and abrasions on his feet. Herewe didn't get much farther before he was suddenly slammed into a tree trunk.
"What's a mer like you doing trying to sneak into an Imperial War camp?" A harsh voice from the man pinning Herewe to the tree asked.
"I wasn't trying to sneak in I promise," Herewe said, his voice wavering a little in fear as his brain seemed to go a million miles a minute. What could he say? It's not like he could claim gods had brought him here from another world where he died, made him their champion and then told him to seek out this war camp. He'd be laughed off as mad at best, killed for being a particularily stupid spy at worst. Finally he decided that Hermaeus's cover story for him was best. "My Ma and Pa told me to run and I did, all the way down the mountain. I thought maybe if there were people here they could help me." Herewe added a little sniffle at the end partly faked and partly not hoping to garner a little sympathy.
"Drop your pack and I'll search you," the man behind him said. "Try anything funny and I'll put my sword through your back and out your chest," He threatened. Herewe nodded and quickly but carefully removed his pack and then put his hands back on the tree above his head so the soldier could search him. Satisfied that he had nothing on him the soldier let him turn around, although he wouldn't let Herewe have his makeshift pack back, carrying it himself while gripping Herewe by the arm.
"I'll bring you to the Legate, he'll decide what to do with you," the soldier said as he basically dragged Herewe along by the arm. The war camp was large. Larger than Herewe had been able to see immediately during his approach due to the tents set up not just in the small clearing but in between the encroaching trees as well. Herewe tried to follow along without resisting but his injured feet and much shorter stature in comparison to the imperial soldier made it difficult as he didn't seem to notice, slow down or shorten his strides.
"Please sir," Herewe tried to speak to the soldier.
"Don't speak," the soldier ordered.
"Please sir," Herewe tried again as they passed by what clearly seemed to be some kind of prisoner's pen. It held a large number of men, and a couple of women very clearly tied and hobbled with only a large tarp tied to thin poles to keep out the rain and the sun and a few dirty furs on the ground to keep them from having to sleep directly in the mud. Soldiers in the same gold and red uniformed armor as the soldier escorting Herewe, stood guard around the pen. There was one man, clearly he had more worth than the other prisoners, or perhaps was simply more dangerous. He was kept in a separate pen with a leather gag strapped to his face with three soldiers guarding over him alone.
"I said be quiet," the soldier said angrily, jerking Herewe forward. Herewe stumbled with a gasp and a cut off cry, feeling his shoulder pop out of its socket. "Shut it, I won't ask again," the soldier said, taking exception to Herewe''s cry of pain. Herewe tried not to sniffle or whimper as the soldier continued leading him along by his dislocated arm into a large tent.
"Quaestor Maxmillion," a man who wore the same gold and red, but was clearly wearing gear that was far better quality than the soldier, Quaestor Maxmillion, who was escorting Harry. "Why are you here instead of patrolling the perimeter?"
"Yes sir, Legate sir, I caught this little elf sneaking through the woods on the north western border. He claims to have been living in the mountains with his parents, who coincidentally died in some kind of attack," Quaestor Maxmillion reported.
"You don't believe his story, Quaestor?" the Legate asked.
"No Legate," Quaestor Maxmillion answered. "When I searched him and his pack he had no weapons, I think that in Skyrim, no one except those who are aiming to seem weaker than they are would be without a weapon outside of the safety of city walls, and to arrive only a few days after Ulfric Stormcloak is arrives at this camp is also suspicious. I think he is a spy, although I doubt that he is a spy for the Stormcloaks. Likely he's a Thalmor spy, making sure none of us let him loose."
"That true boy? Are you a Thalmor spy?" the Legate asked Herewe.
"No sir I swear," Herewe said, feeling off-centered. He thought that the people here were supposed to help him not accuse him of being a spy. He supposed that Akatosh never actually said that they would help him but that he could 'theoretically stumble upon them and ask for help.' "Please sir," Herewe tried to beg, "I just wanted to find someone who could help and I smelled the wood smokeā¦"
"Enough," the Legate ordered and Herewe quickly fell silent. The tone the man had spoken with reminded Herewe of Uncle Vernon when he was Harry Potter, and Herewe was suddenly very afraid. "Put him with the other prisoners. A night or two with them until we get to Helgen might just loosen his tongue."
"Yes sir, as you order Legate," the Quaestor snapped back quickly as he moved to drag Herewe back out of the tent.
"Quaestor," the Legate called before they were fully exited.
"Yes Legate?" Quaestor Maxmillion asked.
"Put him with Stone-Fist. Might make him more inclined to tell the truth about being a spy," the Legate ordered. The Quaestor gave the Legate a malicious grin.
"Sir, yes sir," Quaestor Maxmillion answered. Yes, Herewe was very very afraid.
