Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed for me. This will be a novel-length AU story, and Harry will visit many of the realms in Velgarth. I don't want to say too much, as the story is in the journey, but rest assured that our dear Harry will find himself in Valdemar eventually. I thought of planting him there in the very beginning, but that seemed too pat, as if Valdemar were the only worthwhile place on the planet. While the Heralds are undeniably Gryffindorish in attitude, there needs to be a better balance in Harry, I think, before he's right to become a Herald. He needs to grow up a bit, and in a setting that doesn't resemble in any way Hogwarts. The Collegium would not provide the change of pace he needs to bring out a little more of the other houses in him. Since we will be visiting Hardorn at some point, I should say that this is a future story, long after the Owl Knight trilogy. No canon characters should make any appearances, save in passing conversations. While this is NOT slash, keep in mind that Myste does not shy away from such pairings, so if something is mentioned, don't squick out on me. SensiblyTainted, OFC means original female character, may or may not be Mary Sue. Not in this case, don't worry.

Sorry I took so long. RL interfered in a major way. My husband and I bought a house, my office is still a shambles from the move, my new cat has taken up a lot of my time, and so has my new job. But none of my stories has left my mind, and plotbunnies have still been known to take up residence in the house, much to the annoyance of the cat. I named her Ms. Priss, by the way. She's an ordinary black-and-white tabby, but she is of the belief that she is the supreme being of the universe due to her mouse-catching abilities, and will not be told otherwise.

One more quick note; I found another ML crossover. It's a masterful beginning—with no ending. And it hasn't been updated since 11/04. "Dragon Herald", by Mystica, is story #2147339. I'd love to pester her into starting again, but I'm not sure she's listening.

That's enough longwindedness from me. Enjoy!

Finding Home

Two

Hawksnest, Ruvan...

When Bristian, a White Winds Master and bonded mercenary riding with Joseff's Sunhawks, was awakened by an insistent tapping at the glass window of his cabin in Hawksnest, he was not much pleased. The Hawks had just come back from a major campaign in Velvar two weeks ago, one which had turned into a mage battle when their opponents had hired a blood-path Adept. It had taken everything he and two other master mages had to destroy the Adept, which had released half of the opponent's army from his control and won them the campaign, and they were still recovering. He needed what rest he could get.

He groaned and sat up in bed, twisting his neck a bit until it popped maddeningly, a habit which often annoyed others in the company, but which was necessary for his own comfort. He took his dressing gown from the chair beside the bed and stood, putting it on as he walked to the window. If this was Joseff, he was going to have to knock the man's head over a—What in seven Hells is that?

The window was not made from near-invisible flat glass, which Bristian had seen only once in a mage's home. Instead, it was two shutters of less expensive sheet glass, made from sand, red lead and potash, all mixed and melted together, then poured onto a sheet and spread out with a metal tool. The tool removed any bubbles from the mix, which would weaken it, and it left the glass with swirling patterns of ridges on one side. Looking through such glass was not like looking through open air. The glass distorted the view of what was on the other side. What Bristian saw was a blurred and wavy white shape moving behind the glass shutters.

Caution was the only way a mercenary lived long enough to retire, and this could be some mage-born monstrosity sent to exact vengeance for one of his past enemies. After all, he had become a mercenary for many reasons, not the least of which was that he had meddled in affairs that were not necessarily his own, making him a very powerful enemy in the south. He didn't open the window, instead going around to the door and sliding his corner tool, a small silver mirror mounted to a rod, underneath it so that he could see the creature at his window.

It was a huge white owl! What, by the Windborn, was a white owl doing trying to get in his window? The only white owls he had ever heard of came out of the Pelagirs, and they were usually on the arm of a Hawkbrother. There was no reason at all for one to be this far east.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up nad opened the door. The owl heard it and turned its head from where it was hovering around the window, then flapped once and glided toward the open door. Quickly stepping back in case the bird should attack him, Bristian watched it fly soundlessly through the room and land on the bed.

The owl cheeped at him, looking sideways at him as only an owl could, and then hopped over to his wardrobe and screeched at him in a demanding fashion. Still suspicious, especially at the obvious intelligence of the bird, he looked at it with Mage Sight. She was visible, even obvious, and she looked like a little human girl, one who was distraught. Switching back to normal sight, he saw her actually opening his wardrobe and yanking on his clothing. Obviously, she wanted him dressed, but why?

He thought about it. There was no taste of darkness or blood-magic in her aura, and she seemed rather desperate. Someone was in trouble, someone she cared about. She wanted Bristian to help this person.

There would be no use in telling the bird that he was a mercenary and would expect payment; she wouldn't understand. The little girl she appeared as to Mage-Sight was about three years old, and all she cared about was that her person needed help, help that a mage could give. And if she was seeking outside help at all, he was alone and in grave danger. Very well. The person would simply owe him.

He dressed quickly, then left his cabin and walked toward the stables to collect one of the Shina'in-bred remounts that the company had bought from the Talesedrin horse fair this season. They were beautiful and hardy animals with better balance and more strength and endurance than any other breed available off the Dorisha Plains.

Moris, the stable-master, said, "Where're you headed so early? I thought you'd still be abed after that last fight."

"The bird is insistent that I follow her." Moris hadn't seen her until she was mentioned and gasped. Yet more evidence that she had been mage-touched. "I suppose that if someone needs help and can afford it, they'll pay me, and if they can't, they'll do some work around here until they can."

"Where'd she come from?"

"I don't know. She woke me up flapping at my window. But she's more than what she looks to be. I think she might nave been born in the Pelagirs, though she hasn't said so."

Moris shook his head. "I'll leave the magiking to you, mate. You'll be wanting one of the Plains group?" Bristian nodded and Moris went into the paddock to fetch a chestnut mare who had a sweet temperment, one of Bristian's favorite mounts. She was a pretty little thing, with two white socks and a blaze, and she was more intelligent than most of the other horses in the group.

The mage saddled her quickly and then turned to the snow-white owl. Seeing him ready to leave, she launched off of the paddock railing and flew ahead of him, intent on leading him to her injured human. Bristian shook his head in wonderment. This was going to be a very interesting morning.

The cave was only half a day's ride from Hawksnest, and Bristian was grateful for that. He hadn't brought much in the way of supplies, deciding that the owl wouldn't have gone too far to find help if her master was that bad off. She seemed impatient with him, and was constantly cheeping at him. He could have sworn she was telling him to hurry up.

When he arrived, he dismounted in front of the cave she had led him to and walked to the entrance, peering into the shadows within it. A young man, perhaps seventeen, lay on the sandy floor of the cave, which had been carved out of the hillside by the river before it had changed it's course a few generations before. He was naturally fair-skinned, but he was also so pale his skin looked transparent. His jet black hair was plastered to his skull by persperation, though the morning was quite cool. Bristian couldn't decide what the lenses were that hung from wires across his face, but it was obvious just from looking at them that they would change the way the boy saw the world. One of them was broken, and Bristian moved the glass away so that it wouldn't get into his eye.

Looking at him with Mage-Sight was quite an experience. The boy's aura was violet, and it was powerful. A mage's aura was usually blue, unless they were a bloodmage, and then it would be red, no matter how much or how little they used it. With the boy, blood barely tinted his magic, and Bristian wasn't sure what to make of that. The aura didn't feel dangerous, but he would bear watching.

Knowing that the boy was experiencing reaction shock, Bristian didn't waste any more time wondering about him. He shielded his mind as heavily as he could, then reached down and picked the boy up. That was when he saw the scar on the forehead and the whitening roots in the part of his hair, but he didn't stop to worry about them. He didn't think the boy would survive this if he didn't get to help as soon as possible. Bristian slung him across the back of the mare and lashed him to her with rope so he wouldn't fall off if he went into convulsions. The owl chittered at him a little, obviously worried, but she allowed him to do it. Then he mounted himself and set off at a gallop for Hawksnest.

The trip was not a fun one for the boy, who often moaned in pain. Bristian wished he was a Mindspeaker so he could warn the Healers of what he was bringing them, or that he was a Healer himself so he could eliminate some of the boy's pain, but if wishes were horses, how beggars would ride. But finally, just as the sun started setting, the chestnut mare reached the gates of village, and Bristian started shouting for the Healers.

Pain. Harry's brain and body were alive with it, pulsing with agony at the beating of his heart. But as an indeterminate amount of time passed, it lessened gradually, until he could hear a voice gently whispering to him to come to wakefulness. Even such a small whisper stung against his bruised mind, but he was able to use it as a ballast and return to full consciousness.

What the hell had happened? He remembered Snape casting the Killing Curse and then himself ducking—the Gate! He sat up like a shot, and then immediately regreted it when his head exploded with pain. A young man in dark green robes came running into the room with a concerned look on his face. He started speaking in a foriegn language, but though Harry couldn't understand his words, he understood that the man wanted him to lie back down. The light whisper that he recognized from his coma spoke into his mind. He thought he must be a mediwizard. :You're not ready to be up and around yet, young man. You must let your mind and body heal from this ordeal.: Harry would have answered him back in kind, but he shook his head. :No. You're not ready for that either. I immagine you were going to ask what happened to you. We're not exactly sure, but we do know that you were suffering from a severe case of backlash, Bristian says probably from a Gate. You now have a streak of bright white hair just above that remarkable scar on your forehead. You will recover fully, I promise. You should be able to handle drinking some broth later tonight, but for now, I want you to rest.:

Harry thought about being rebelious, but the swimming in his head was enough to advise him against it. He nodded a little to show his compliance.

:Alright. I'll leave and let you rest, but I'll be back later. Does that owl of yours need anything? Don't talk; just think of your response.:

She just needs hunting and water. Thank you.

:You're welcome.: The young mediwizard left the room. Harry wanted to think about what had happened and where he had found himself, but he could no longer keep his eyes open and he fell into a deep, healing sleep.

"Bristian! Do you plan on letting me settle my debt any time soon?" Harry had awakened six months ago in the cair of mercenaries who had found him after a campain in Jkatha, his hair streaked white, his brain on fire, and his owl driving everyone to distraction. Harry hadn't known the language, hadn't understood where he was or why his friends weren't standing around him. Eventually, he'd conjured a quill and a bit of parchment, spelled it to be readable in any language, and started learning both the Trade language and the answers to his questions, at least as much of them as the mercenaries could answer. Josef's Sunhawks didn't have much knowlege of magic, but Bristian, a Master-class mage who was one of their number, knew enough to tecognize the signs of a Gate gone wrong. He had taught the young wizard all he could, helping him to restabilize his magic.

"Yes, lad. You're ready. You may have to wait until tomorrow to sell those stones of yours, though. Abidan isn't sure when he'll be able to resell them and he's trying to get world from several buyers who will be in the area soon." Harry had determined, once he knew in whose company he was, that he would pay for those services which had been rendered to him, and he had two ready sources of cash; fifty gold Galleons and the sixteen egg-sized rubies from the sword of Gryffindor. But he had to sell the stones before he could get a new housing for the magically forged blade. He was keeping one of them, an absolutely flawless stone that he intended to have set as a [pendant and use as his focus. It practically sang nest to his magic, and he didn't want to part with it.

Bristian had been able to teach him so much! And Harry was very grateful. He'd tried to give the older mage one of the rubies whole in payment, but Bristian had refused to cheat the naive young man, saying that the lessons had only been worth half of even the smallest of those rubies.

But now Harry was getting ready to leave, and he anted his debt setled before he went. His grief at realizing that he would never see his friends again demanded that he set his hooves to the open road, and pray their memories didn't haunt him.

No one in the entire camp had recognized the names of places that he'd talked about, so he'd asked to see a map, and that was when he had realized that he "wasn't in Kansas anymore." No where on Earth sported such a pair of perfectly round craters, linked by forests filled with magical men and birds, as well, rumor had it, as monsters. No where on Earth could people who had no magic have been so aware of it, nor would they have dressed like these people, in plain wools and leathers, with leather armor for battle and swords, axes and knives on the battlefield. Wherever he was, there were no explosives, no air plaines, no guns, and no telecommunications. The highest artifical technology was coming out of a northern country called Valdemar, and it was essentially a steam powered car. It worked, but it was far too noisy yet to be of any use, and Henry Ford's ideas hadn't been heard of.

How his Gate had been thrown so far off like that, Harry and Bristian could only guess. The fact that Snape's attack sounded like a Final Strike probably had something to do with it, but no one could be sure. The only thing they were sure of was that there was no going back. Harry would have to find his way in this new world. There was no other choice.

Of course, Harry had started new before, when he first found out about the wizarding world, but that had been something that was a part of him, as well as allowing him to excape from his relatives for most of the year. Once the really bad stuff started happening, Harry had already considered the wizarding world his home. His friends were there. The Weasleys, who had practically adopted him as a seventh son, were ther. Ginny was there.

And now he would never see any of them ever again. Was he a coward to want to run from that pain? He'd have to face it some time, unless he planned to live his life in Animagus form. Sirius had used the form of the dog to filter his thoughts when he was being assaulted by Dementors. No Harry was planning to do the same as the God Dog, what the Native American Indians had called the horse. His equine form had surprised him when he completed the Animagus transformation for the first time. He'd thought he would end up a stag, like his father, but apparantly his personality was his own creation, and he would become a coal-black stallion, a white blaze in the middle of his forehead where his scar was. He'd also noticed the numbing effect that the transformation had on his emotions. If it was cowardly, he didn't care. At least, not for now.

Josef walked into the inn where Harry was staying and to the table he and Bristian were sitting at. "Well, Harry, we're going to be sad to see you go. I still think you would have made a fine merc, made plenty of money."

Harry shook his head. "I just got through fighting a war to save the people I love, Josef. People I can't even grieve for properly. They're alive, but I've still lost them." He sighed. "You may think I'd be good—"

Josef interrupted. "You'd be great."

"But I'm tired. I've been fighting Voldemort in one way or another for nearly half my life. I just want peace and quiet for a while."

The mercenary captain sighed and nodded. "I understand. This company is my life, but it can't be that way for everyone." He looked up. "Ah. There's Abidan. I see you and he have much to discuss."

In the end, Harry ended up with quite a heavy purse despite settling his debt with the Healers and the mages. He settled with the inn, and then set out to buy himself what he felt he would need for the trip. He bought travel clothes and town clothes, two good pair of boots, a set of leather armor, a new grip for Gryffindor that was more prac tical while still being beautiful, and an assortment of daggers and throwing knives. He bought trail rations, as well, though he planned to graze as a horse rather than eat them. Finally he bought a canteen, a lode stone and a map. He did not buy a horse or a saddle, which confused the supply sergent, but when questioned, he just smiled and went on.

All of it fit in Harry's trunk, which was actually charmed bottomless, and Harry shrank the trunk before he left. He strung it on a leather thong so that it would hang to his belt when he put it around his neck, but he didn't put it on just yet. Instead, he went and found Bristian. "Come see me off?"

The two men stood at the edge of the town, just on the other side of the gates, and looked out toward the horizon. "It's a long journey you have ahead of you, lad." Bristian thought about something and looked back at Harry. "Where's your gear? Surely you're not planning to make this trip with no provisions!"

Harry snorted in amusement. "No." He held up his shrunken trunk. "It's all right here." He sat the trunk down on the ground and nullified the shrinking charm he'd put on it. The trunk quickly reverted to its full size, much to the amazement of the mage standing next to it. He repeated the charm and the trunk was once again the size of a pendant, about two inches long.

Bristian shook his head in amazement. "You are truly amazing, my friend. I wish you would stay. I believe we would have much to teach one another." For a moment, Harry was tempted. Not the life of a soldier, but that of a teacher, a profession he knew that he would have enjoyed if he'd grown up in peace time. But he hadn't, and a sedentary profession, no matter how rewarding, would give him far too much time to think about the past and wallow in it.

"I'm sorry, Bristian. I need time, time to run without thinking, time to mourn. I have to go."

Bristian sighed. "You're traveling on foot?"

"In a manner of speaking. I could travel on a flying broom, but I don't want to frighten people." He whistled loudly, and Hedwig soon flew over the wall to join them. She landed on Harry's outstretched gloved hand. "Hello there, Hedwig. You mind resting on Bristian for a moment?" The bird glared at him. "Just for a moment, I promise." She huffed, but then hopped over to Bristian's shoulder. "There, thanks."

Then Harry proceeded to transfugure himself into a seventeen-hand* black stallion. He was amused to find that both mane and tail were completely white, like the new streak of white he'd woken up with in his human hair. As a stallion, human worries weren't as close, and he whickered in relief. It wasn't like he had forgotten, but a horse knows that nature must take its course, and he is not as grieved by loss.

But he returned to his human form so that he could explain things to Bristian. "You know, you're doing a remarkable impression of a landed fish."

Bristian closed his mouth with a snap. "H-how-?"

"The Animagus transformation; a difficult spell to master, but it's well worth it once you've gotten used to it. It's very freeing to run as an animal, and Midnight is a very strong, very fast horse. I'll be able to go anywhere I want, and if I run out of food, I can forage rather than hunt."

A flaw came to Bristian immediately. "You aren't branded. Farmers and other passers by may see you and want such an unusual stallion for themselves. A horse looking like that would fetch a fine price, even from the horse breeders of the west."

"I'm fast and unencumbered. I'll be able to out run and out manuver them."

Bristian nodded. "Make sure you practice. A good horseman trains his beast, especially those who wish to capture other horses, and you may be facing some of the best-trained animals in the world as their masters try to catch you." He shook his head. "You are certainly the most singular mage I've ever heard of. If you ever do settle somewhere, I hope you'll start a school. The world could benefit from what you have to teach it."

But Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. The kind of magic you learn takes time and discipline to learn, as well as a knowledge of the true nature of magic and the earth. It's harder. Wizardry is not only easier, but it has moe varied effects. It does so much more, and with far fewer consequences. That might make it easier for children to learn, but in this world, it would give evil a powerful weapon. You don't need a Voldemort here."

"Evil will always find a way to prosper."

"Of course. But I will not help it."

Bristian smiled. "You are wiser than your years, Harry. Fair journey, my friend." He clasped Harry's hand in farewell.

"You take care of yourself, Bristian. Will you put this around my neck?" He handed his trunk over and transformed once again.

Bristian slipped the leather over the stallion's neck, then looked at him and said, "I think you should change that sobriquet of yours. Midnight isn't as accurate any more."

The Animagus thought about it, then sent a thought into Bristian's mind through his magic. :Moonnight: Then he bowed in farewell, turned and began his wandering at an easy canter. Hedwig launched herself from Bristian's shoulder to follow her person.

Bristian watched until the pair had crested the hill on the horizon and gone beyond it. Only then did he say, "I hope you find peace, young one." Then he turned and walked back inside the gates, the settng sun at his back.

*About horse height:

This article was refferenced by Answers dot com.

Veterinary Dictionary: mustang
American for feral horse, also charitably described as a scrub-type of light horse varying a good deal in conformation. Any color, 14 to 15 hands high. Descended from the horses brought into Central America by Spanish conquistadores.

Wild horses are smaller and more suited to long distances. At seventeen hands, he's big for this kind of horse, but he's strong and fast, as well as having high endurance. You have to remember that this is magic. It doesn't have to make sense, though we're all glad when it actually does.

Thanks to Blazing Aurora for getting me to look it up! ^_~