For those who came in late:
Harry and his friends have opted to spend Christmas/Saturalia at Harry's home, and so far have seen the Imperial City, a cross-section of the lower Lake Rumare, and how outlaws are dealt to Tamriel style.
This omake's about to end soon in a sputter of world-building. Filling in the gaps of a fantasy world can be exhausting, hence the long delay. I think I'll get the kids into a spot of trouble next chapter.
Right, let's get on with it then...
The road from Pell's Gate crested just above the top of a waterfall before sinking into a valley from which smoke rose from numerous chimneys. Faregyl was clearly a prosperous rural village, surrounded by fields and the edge of the Great Forest. Zenithar's wayshrine gleamed close to the road, and...
"What on earth is that?" Draco rolled his eyes at Hermione, then frowned when he saw what had caught her attention.
What she was pointing at was a slope of earth, left of the road, that seemed to have been blasted as if by dragon's fire. In the centre, two shattered stone pillars stood, the air between them tinted with an almost sulky reddish glow. On one side, fleshy vines twitched in a non-existent breeze. The whole area was walled off with cruel spikes on top, pointing inward.
"That was an Oblivion gate," Ra'jirra said at last, "One minute I'm having breakfast and the next – there's an almighty red bang and there it was with daedra spewing out of it! Spent all day and all night closing the damn thing."
"He had to go through the gate into Oblivion," Harry added helpfully, "fighting dremoras and daedroths and things, to get all the way to the top of the sigil tower and remove the stone and then there was this great big bang! And the sky turned blue again and there's Dad in the rubble, looking pissed off and with this screaming sigil stone in his mitts."
"Still get a few appearing sometimes," Ra'jirra added, glaring at the fenced-off gate, "So wise children stay the hells away from it."
Harry's neck turned pink.
Magnus was on the home stretch to sunset; the windows were already beginning to twinkle with lamps and candles as his light slid away. The party turned right, towards the largest building. Faregyl Inn had undergone an understandable expansion with the residence of the Arch-Mage – mainly because Ra'jirra didn't feel worthy of inhabiting Traven's old chambers. However, the inevitable crust of bootlickers and upper echelons felt the need for proximity; this required additional rooms and crops to feed the extra mouths. Funnily enough, there were plenty of refugees from Kvatch looking for a place to call home and a trade to support themselves, thus the inn had doubled in size from what it had been when Ra'jirra was still an innocent Associate on the grand tour.
Draco kept his dismay to himself, suspecting that things would be much more luxurious on the inside.
"Home at last," Ra'jirra said happily as they drew to a halt before the stables, then heaved himself out of the saddle with a grunt. The day had been noticeably strenuous. The children followed with varying degrees of expertise and their mounts blew with varying degrees of relief.
"Might as well stay the night," Zul remarked to his wife.
"Damn straight," Mazoga agreed, "I prefer to see 'em coming. That way they know how they're gonna die."
"My own heart," Zul said affectionately.
Draco and Hermione refrained from joining in the covert gagging.
Ra'jirra led them inside the inn, turning right and down some steps to a large common room that smelled of woodsmoke, food, drink and sweat. A counter swept between the entry and the cellar door; small windows glittered darkly in the light of candles that (strangely, according to Ron, Hermione and Draco) didn't float, but sat staidly in sconces and candelabras. Round tables supported groups of people all eating, drinking, and talking together.
As Ra'jirra stumped in, the sound level dipped briefly, before rising again: "Ra'jirra! – The Arch-Mage's back! – Is that the Count behind him? – and his wife too – Hey! There's Harry! – S'jirra! Your husband's home!" emerged from the babel.
"This one has eyes to see herr Rra'jirra's back," declared a matronly Khajiit whose fur was as silvered as Ra'jirra's own, but the sparkle in her eyes was much younger. The two embraced, kissing each other on the lips, before the Arch-Mage grinned rakishly and licked his wife's nose, making her giggle.
"Stop that! Unless you want little rrest tonight," S'jirra warned him to a chorus of knowing laughter and catcalls, then disengaged as she spotted her stepson. "Harrry," her accent turned his name into a loving purr, "This one has missed you, it has been so long, have you been well? How arre they trreating you..."
The four wizarding children all looked at each other nervously. There were certain adventures they'd had which S'jirra might take amiss, involving mandrakes, a cerberus, and of course the troll.
Ron's stomach cut S'jirra's embrace of Harry short, and quite loudly too. It sounded a lot like a dremora with diarrhea.
"I think he speaks for all of us," Zul remarked dryly.
S'jirra was a little surprised at Ron and his stomach requesting thirds. "I never thought pork could be this tasty," he explained, indicating where two rounds of roast had been ransacked.
"Thanks," a Bosmer at the next table grinned, "caught it today myself. We have to keep S'jirra's potatoes safe, don't we?"
This raised laughter and a playful swipe from the Khajiit in question.
Hermione wasn't paying attention. Her eyes had been drawn to an elaborate display case bearing a striking portrait: A young man, clad in a thoroughly un-medieval sort of jumpsuit, with a determined look in his eyes. The nameplate –
Forgetting her manners, she left the table and went over and stared. One side was in the local language – Aldmeris, Harry called it – but the other was in English.
Doctor Earnest Haines
b. Vault 101 2259 – d. Jefferson Memorial, Washington DC 2277
"I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely." - Revelations 21:6
Her eyes wandered about the case of anachronisms. Some sort of boxy weapon took centre stage, flanked by other items and battered objects that made no sense to her. There was another book, more a folio: The Wasteland Survival Guide. Smaller paintings showed the man and Ra'jirra himself apparently travelling through a landscape of parched earth and shattered buildings, fighting creatures that wouldn't have looked out of place on the covers of Fifties pulps.
"They're on loan, actually," Ra'jirra said behind her, "from the Institute of Technological Philosophy. Harry's not the first Champion," she could hear the capital letters, "of Earth we've been sought to aid."
"Champion of Earth?" Her confusion began to express itself in the only way she knew. "You've been to the future? Our future? What happened? What was a Vault? What –"
The boys, as one, looked at her, groaned, and dropped their heads in their hands.
"Apparently they had a, whajamacallit, nuclear war," the old Khajiit remarked, "still, this isn't your Earth's future. Look at that flag badge."
His silvered finger indicated an almost familiar cloth patch. There were the red and white bars, but the stars were circling around a central one. "That's not the US flag...?" Hermione's mind stuttered to a halt as she tried to work it out.
"Was on that Earth," Ra'jirra explained. "When Harry sent a letter home with a drawing of the US flag from yours, we realised we were... um... in touch with another one. Being clever we call that one Earth 1 and yours Earth 2."
Hermione's eyes glazed over as proof of the Many Worlds theory of quantum mechanics stared her in the face.
"I reckon the Nine had a hand in us reaching your world, or worlds," Ra'jirra went on relentlessly. "I guess your gods needed a bit of a hand, and since the Nine don't mind getting their hands dirty, guess who got roped in?"
The boys marvelled at the sight of Hermione Granger suffering Too Much Information Syndrome for a change.
"To me it sounds a bit like the result of a Dragon Break event, or something similarly re..." the old Khajiit trailed off as he looked at Hermione's face. "Tell you what, we'll discuss it tomorrow or something, unless Harry gives you the grand tour first."