For Disclaimer, see Chapter 1
But enough about that, it's Chapter 2!
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Chapter 2:
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Thought and Memory
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Drevas' Journal
20th First Seed, 4E201
Blackreach, Sinderion's Redoubt
Alas, Sinderion. Why didn't you hire some muscle, old fool?
I'd heard of the bloke, back when I'd just left Elsewyr, and I'd stopped in Skingrad to pick up supplies for Ellie's and my trip to Hammerfell. One hundred and fifteen years ago … blimey, was it really so long ago?
Anyway, heard he was a hell of a master alchemist, pioneered some new uses for Nirnroot that were pretty famous during the Oblivion Crisis, then up and sold shop one day for no apparent reason.
To think he found his end in this Nine-forsaken hole, another victim of the Falmer's hospitality. Forsooth.
Left his notes behind, along with a potted sample of Crimson Nirnroot; should be useful, that. Find out what's in the soil, must be special, maybe the pot? Looks Dwemer.
Speaking of Falmer, there's quite a lot of them scattered about down here, much like Alftand (what a colossal cock-up that was), but that's not too much of an issue. Falmer I can handle. So long as there's no Daedra skulking about-
What's that sound?
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21st First Seed, 4E201
Blackreach, Sinderion's Redoubt
(Penmanship is shaky for this entry)
Okay … have to stay awake long enough to get this down, while it's fresh in my mind.
Did I say quite a lot of Falmer? Better upgrade that to 'possible breeding hive'. When it snows, it blizzards, as the Nords say.
The sound I heard was a young lass, maybe fifteen summers old, with an arrow in her leg, trying to fight off a good dozen of the filthy things. Unsuccessfully, as no sooner did I open the door did she get whacked across her right brow with the blunt side of a war axe. So, being the kind, law-abiding citizen that I am, out came the mace and ol' Scales, which sent the little demons running. Except the one what brained the lass: he was busy getting 'is head smashed into 'is ribcage. Fetcher.
Dunno why, but the fuckers are really scared of Clannfear. Whatever, good for me.
Lass was in bad shape once I got 'er in the redoubt: left most of 'er blood on the ground, bad wound in the leg, easy to heal af'er all…
(Line of ink drags off the page before continuing)
… these years. Damn it, still light headed. Arrow wounds are easy, after all these years. Regrow the bone, pour a healing fortifier on it, heal the fleshy bits and blood vessels, and you're basically done. Her smashed right orbital and cracked skull were harder to deal with: took 2 of my strongest magicka restoratives, a potion to speed up my magicka regeneration, and a gauze bandage soaked in a regenerative and disease curative to keep it from tearing or getting infected; I neglected healing it all the way, just enough to make sure she wouldn't lose her eye. Have to wait till she wakes up, make sure her eye can move, before finishing the job.
On top of all that, I had to mitigate the blood loss. Speaking of, I should send a card and gift-basket to old Nel for showing me how to do a field transfusion, back in that cock-up expedition to Vvardenfell. On the other hand, missing a good five pints of blood is less fun. Better take a restorative for that.
She's a bit sweaty, not quite a fever yet; lass is quite the fighter. Clothes might be ruined, too much blood; her hair was worse: I had to cut most of it off, there was so much dried blood. I got her into a clean tunic and skirt, after getting her out of her clothes to get the blood off; but that's what might be the strangest part of this whole situation. Her clothes.
A white shirt with button-able cuffs, some silk scarf that's worn about the neck (decorative?), knee length flared skirt, with socks the same length in a striped red/gold pattern; also, a heavy robe, wool, good for moving about in the winter, not so much for fighting … and all made with a precision that I've never come across in all my years, that would make that Altmer bint up at Radiant Raiment weep with envy. Okay, maybe not, but she'd still turn green at least. Shoes are strange, too: pretty well-made, but with cheap material; what was she thinking, mucking about in a ruin in clothing more suited to palace life or a magickal laboratory?; thing is, even though it all looks flimsy, it all been cobbled so well, I don't think the stitches will come out easy. Fairly remarkable, and unnerving. Wherever she's from, it's not anywhere I've ever been, and I've been quite a few places in my 148 years. Akaviir, perhaps? Artaeum, the home of the Psijics? If so, HOW?!
On top of that, she's got some kind of ornate stick that my magicka senses tell me is enchanted; thing is, I can't make it do anything at all. Curious.
Ah, nothing for it then but to wait till she comes out of it. Some water, bread and cheese, a regenerative potion for the blood, then a few more winks. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
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22nd First Seed, 4E201
Blackreach, Dwemer Studio Apartment (haha)
She still hasn't woken. On the other hand, she hasn't slipped into a coma. Fever's almost gone as well. Small mercies.
My strength has returned … but it's odd. I feel like something's … missing. Like … a part of myself is both there and … not. Azura, Julianos, give me sight and wisdom.
Does it have something to do with donating my blood to her? Gods, I hope not. She's just some odd kid, undeserving of such cruel fate. The Greybeards may have called this a blessing from Kyne, while that bitch Delphine called it a tool to use, but I'm not some green little shit out of the house and on his own for the first time in life, and I haven't been for a very. Long. Time.
I know better. It gives you power while putting the desire to dominate in your blood. Mercilessly addictive, like skooma, only better. And far, far more dangerous.
It is a curse, one I'd hoped wouldn't get passed on.
Bah, I need a distraction from these absurd notions. I'll grab my bow and my mace and the Toolbox, go explore for a few hours, see if I can find out where this girl came from.
Better leave Scales here, just in case she wakes up, or the Falmer decide to pay a house call.
_ A few hours later _
Found an arm by a huge purple fungus. This place is unnervingly like Morrowind, mushrooms everywhere I look, nightmares around every corner, can't wait to leave. Bad memories.
Anyway the arm had some cheesy tat on it: a skull with a snake slithering out of it. Got a little magic in it too, feels like necromancy. Hmm; I'll let Serana take a look; necromancy's not my gig, never has been. Serana, on the other hand, might be able to figure out what it does, or did, in this case (heh). Also, this raises some further questions about the young lass on the bed…
There was more, of the person the arm belonged to I mean, but in no state for retrieval: half eaten bits of flesh and shattered bones, no thanks. Not putting that in the Toolbox. Arm in a soul-gem powered stasis field? Sure! Falmer leftovers? I think not.
This cavern is massive: must be five miles from one end to the other, half a mile from floor to ceiling, littered throughout with signs of long-term Falmer settlement (sod) and fairly impressive Dwemer constructions. Even a lantern the size of the Dragonsreach main hall, over a huge citadel! There's also evidence of the same aetherium that went into building the Toolbox, mostly in the crags spaced throughout the place; just traces, though, nothing to bother Neloth with. I wonder why the Dwemer built this place … and why there's so many Gods-forsaken fucking FALMER! Really! I must have run into a full score of the buggers just retracing the lass' trail and coming back! Definitely a breeding colony somewhere in this place…
An aetherium mining complex, perhaps? Research facility? Something worse? Who knows with the Dwemer.
As for my mysterious patient, the lass still has-
(Sharp line ends sentence)
She woke for a few moments, just now, thank Stendarr. Cried out for someone called Har'ii, managed to swallow a nutrient potion I'd prepared, then was out like a light again. Bugger. Didn't get a chance to check her eye.
I wonder if she'll be mad I've cut her hair. Then again, it was matted with blood. Gah, stay on topic, old fart!
I suppose I should describe her: round face with a button nose, slight freckles, like one of those Breton girls that have suitors galore. Looks a little like Sorine, actually, but 10 years younger … wonder if there's something she needs to tell Serana, Gunmar, Isran and I (smirk).
The mystery lass has a good build, too, like someone who gets a lot of exercise and eats well; like a Legion recruit that tested into officer training, or a Companion brat like Aela was. Hm. Curiouser and curiouser (is that even a word? Meh, is now, heh).
So, on one hand, she's dressed like some high noble from a land I've never heard of, with a mysterious item that I can't activate … on the other hand, she looks to be in fine fettle, and can probably take care of herself in a pinch; better make that obviously, instead of probably, if the fist-sized hole in that Falmer's chest is any indication. I wonder how she did that …
-Later-
I spent the rest of the day figuring out what properties this Crimson Nirnroot has; Sinderion, the bloody arse, put all his research and recipes in code, damn; good thing I'm not a half-bad alchemist myself.
Apparently, the Crimson version of Nirnroot gives a healthy boost to whatever potion you put it in, so long as the properties are similar enough. I managed to make a particularly deadly poison by mixing its concentrated essence with filtered extract of Deathbell. If I can figure out a way to farm these noisy plants without using the fungi here in Blackreach, all the better; maybe that friend of Sinderion's, Avrusa Sarethi, is still alive; she might know something…
The lass' breathing has evened out; she seems to be sleeping; Arkay, Mara, Stendarr, Kynareth, Meridia, grant her strength, see her to wakefulness, and keep her from the Void. Best catch a few winks myself, right after cobbling together some basic armor for her: if we're going to make it out of here alive, we both need to be protected.
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Dark.
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Cold.
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Warm.
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Pain.
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Nothing…
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"Her…ne! W…e up!"
"Muhh…Harry?"
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My eyelids felt like they were made of stone, as did my limbs, but I knew I was alive…wasn't I?
Everything hurt, but mostly my right eye and brow, a stinging lance in my skin. Owie…what happened? Did I fall down the stairs or something?
'Okay, Hermione, don't panic. Just…open your eyes, take stock,' I did so gingerly, and was met with blurry brightness.
Only my left eye opened; my right was covered by something soft and wet; I sniffed; copper, and … something unfamiliar. Everything was too bloody bright, ah, there, things are getting clearer…
…
Is that a black lizard in front of me?
…
It licked its chops and blinked blue eyes at me.
…
"EEK!" I tried to get away from the strange thing, but stopped when my head gave a throb of pain, "Ah! Owww…"
"SQWAK!" the creature, like some mix between bird and lizard, scrabbled away from me, towards the center of the … room?
Sitting up a bit gave me a better view of my surroundings, which were more like a cozy apartment: I was lying in a bedroll, on a bed made of stone (what?), on one side of the apartment; to my left was an open doorway, partially covered by a rust-red curtain, which had a light steam emitting from it; halfway to the other side was a fireplace, with a pot suspended over the flame, and a green-white circular rug on the floor, currently occupied by the black lizard creature which was watching me curiously; the opposite side of the apartment looked strange, and I was only able to get a look at the bedside table on my right side before another painful throb ran through my head and I had to lay back down and shut my eyes.
But I saw it! My wand was on the table! I was about to reach out to grab it when a deep, kind voice spoke.
"Ah, you're awake. Gods be praised, but you shouldn't be moving so soon." The voice came from the other side of the room, getting closer… could the lizard thing talk?
I opened my one (apparently) good eye as the footsteps came closer. It wasn't the lizard. It was…something else.
Dark grey skin; short, spiky white hair; a lined, weathered, noble face sporting a wispy goatee, with thin lips curled in a kind smile; blood-red eyes, soft, but with a hardness about them; pointed ears, a jade-green loop in the lobe of the right one, the other with a jagged chunk taken out of the tip; all atop a tall, lanky body, chest covered in a thick black tunic, their legs covered in even thicker black armor. 'What…'
"You had a nasty blow to the head," the being said lightly, voice a little raspy, "so I'd advise not moving much till I can make sure your eye has healed properly. More importantly," it sat on a chair I hadn't noticed, "how do you feel? Stiff? Sore?"
"I…," my throat felt like sandpaper, "…thirsty."
A cup of water later, I decided to answer this…person's… questions; "My head hurts, bad. I…I don't know where I am, or h-how I got here. Y-you said I got hit in the head, but I-I don't remember even that!"
"Easy, lass," the strange (and slightly scary) being said firmly.
"And you!" my head throbbed again, but I had to know, "What even are you?"
It looked quite surprised by that question, but still answered, slowly and calmly: "I'm a Dunmer, which is a Dark Elf. My race originated in Morrowind, a land in the east of Tamriel, which is the continent we're residing in. Specifically, I'm a male of my race. Apologies," he looked a little bashful, rubbing the back of his head, which looked bloody weird for someone so tall, "I haven't introduced myself. Drevas of Mournhold, professional adventurer and part-time hero, at your service." He said all that with a warm smile and bow of greeting. 'What…who…where…'
A moment of silence passed, as my muddled brain tried to process what it was seeing and hearing, and as this Drevas' smile slowly faded.
"And…you are?" he prompted carefully. 'Oh! Right, manners, Hermione.'
"Hermione G-Granger, sir," I introduced myself shakily, "and I'm fairly sure I've never heard of Dunmer, or-or Tamriel, or-"
"Miss Granger?"
"Er…y-yes sir?" what? He said that quite sternly.
"Maybe I should make sure you have use of both eyes," he said evenly, but kindly, "before we take that walk down memory lane?"
"O-Oh! Yes, of course," maybe my head would stop throbbing as well.
Drevas leaned over me, deft hands removing the bandage wrapped around my head that kept the soft cloth ('Gauze? Is that what it's called?') pressed against my brow. As he did so, I noticed something.
"Um…Mr. Drevas?"
"Yes?"
"Er…what happened to my hair? I don't remember it being so short..."
"Ah," he looked a little sheepish again, "I had to cut most of it off; partly to make sure the crown of your head wasn't damaged, and partly due to the amount of dried blood in it." Oh. Well…if it couldn't be helped…
Presently, he removed the gauze bandage from my brow and eye. I kept that eye closed for a moment, so it could adjust to the light, before opening it. "Ah," I hissed, "hurts…"
Mr. Drevas didn't seem concerned, "That's expected, all things considered," he remarked unhelpfully, hmph, "Your eye looks fine, from my end anyway. How's your sight?"
"Good," I whispered, because the alternative was sobbing with pain, "A little blurry from the tears though…"
"Right, and it seems to be moving fine as well," he raised his left hand, which became enveloped in golden light, "I'll just finish healing your brow so you can get comfortable, and then we can talk, hm?" He was smiling, which made me feel a little better.
"Okay," I closed my eyes…
And the most wonderful feeling appeared in my brow: like a warm, soft stream of water was flowing into my hurts, taking them and closing them up, smoothing the pain away like making a bed.
"Oh my, what is that?" I sighed, feeling content. Mr. Drevas chuckled, like I'd just told an old joke.
"Restoration magic, Miss Granger; in this case, a precision spell used by Temple healers, mainly for torn muscles and lacerations caused by farm work," the feeling faded, and I opened my eyes without pain. Mr. Drevas' eyes were crinkled with mirth, as he continued, "It also works well for delicate healing, where potion restoratives don't cut it; try sitting up?" He moved back, looking at me expectantly.
I did so, slowly, as I was quite stiff in my joints; 'How long have I been asleep?' I wondered; eventually, I managed to prop myself up against the wall at the head of the bed. It was cool, and comforting…still…
I raised my hand, running it along where the bandage had been: three thin grooves with jagged edges ran from above my eyebrow to the middle of my right temple. Other than that, I seemed to be in one piece; as to how I got in this state…
Then the lizard thing barked at me. "Eep!" I yelped.
"Oh, don't mind Scales there," Drevas assured me with a smirk, "He's my familiar, been hanging around me longer than I can remember. He won't hurt you; in fact, he's kept a rather close eye on you these past three days." He turned that smirk on the creature, which huffed and lay down.
So I'd been out for three days…that still didn't explain a few things, like, "And what, precisely, is Scales?"
"A clannfear alpha; found him in the Black Marsh oh, ages ago. He took a liking to me and we've been friends ever since," the alpha in question huffed derisively, to which Drevas retorted playfully, "Oh, sure, leave me for the first pretty young she to cross our path, traitor!"
It was such a ridiculous scene that I had to laugh. All the same, I still had more questions than answers.
I turned to Mr. Drevas, "How…What happened to me?" 'And why can't I remember…?'
His face went neutral, but his eyes stayed soft, as he told me: "I'd been down here for a few hours when I heard a commotion outside the door," he indicated a heavy bronze door, next to the now dozing Scales, "Upon investigation, I found you being…accosted…by the rather unpleasant natives of this cavern, which are called Falmer. Nasty creatures," he looked disgusted as he said this, "they kill or capture anything they can get their greasy mitts on; nearly killed you," my blood ran cold, "despite your best efforts. Luckily, the gods must've been watching over you, lass: if I hadn't been here…"
I fought down the urge to scream or cry; 'I almost died?! W-what about Harry? Wait…'
"I-I mean…How did I get h-here?" there were tears in my eyes, but I could still see the pained frown on Mr. Drevas' face. "Why can't I r-remember getting h-hurt? W-where's Harry?"
"I have a few theories to that, Miss Granger," he rasped gently, placing a hand on my shoulder in comfort, "I'll address the memory problem first: you took a rather bad blow to the head, as I said; you're likely suffering from amnesia: memory loss. The good news is that it's probably temporary," he finished with a smile, which I certainly wasn't about to return!
I swatted his hand away before fixing him with a glare, "And how could you possibly know that?!" I was upset, angry, and more than a little afraid, hence me snapping at him. I certainly did not screech.
His response, delivered with unflappable calm and certainty, brought my personal crisis to a screeching halt: "You remember someone, Harry; you remember your name; you remember how to speak with clarity, and can understand what I'm saying to you; you can understand abstract concepts, if your reaction to this situation is any indication," I flushed a bit at that one. Was I so obvious? "And, finally, you realize that you have memories missing."
A moment of silence passed, each of us staring at the other: Drevas looking stern, while I mused on what he said. Finally, "I'm sorry," I said, "…I'm scared, and…"
"And that's perfectly understandable, Hermione," his eyes softened, but his face didn't, "You're in the presence of an unknown individual, with no memories of what got you in this situation. You don't trust me, do you?"
"Er…well, you don't exactly look like a nice person, Mr. Drevas," I said carefully, before adding hastily, "No offence."
But he laughed! "None taken, lass. But you're overlooking a few major details."
Oh? "And that detail is…?"
Suddenly, his entire face changed: his eyes were pools of blood, his smile so cruel as he said, "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead," then his face was back to normal, and my heart remembered it was supposed to be beating, "Also, if I wasn't a nice person, like some certain bandit scum I killed on the way here, I probably would've raped you by now."
Well, wasn't that reassuring! "Well…thanks, I feel so much better now."
He winced, holding his hands up, "A bit blunt, yes; but hopefully you've gotten the point: I haven't, nor do I plan to, hurt you. In fact, I'm trying to help you…in my own roundabout way."
'I guess I can't judge him,' I thought, 'After all, what do I know?' So I smiled, and gestured for him to go on.
He leaned back then, face softening back to kindness, before he concluded his earlier diagnosis: "Now, I'm no Temple healer, but this isn't the first time I've encountered amnesia from a knock about the head; best case scenario, you'll regain your memories slowly over the next few weeks."
Weeks?! AT BEST?!"And…at worst?" I asked worriedly.
"Well," his face scrunched up in thought, "you will remember-I won't even consider you not regaining your memories, as I'm an optimist-but at worst it'll take several months, maybe years before you recall everything."
"Oh…" my face fell, 'Months, maybe years… but…' I looked him in the eye, and asked, "And…H-Harry?"
"Hm…" Mr. Drevas looked thoughtful, "Can you describe him?"
"Um…" I thought, hard, trying to recall all the blurry memories of…of the person I loved… "Messy black hair, stocky build, about my height and age…"
"He's not here," Mr. Drevas' tone was final, like he knew; I asked him how he knew, to which he replied, "Once you were stable, I went out and retraced the path you took through Blackreach, which is the cavern outside the door; I found the remains of one fully grown adult, with brown hair, and no other trail indicating a third individual being present aside from the Falmer."
'Adult?' I remembered Harry being angry about something…and…fear. "I think that adult was a bad man, Mr. Drevas."
He winced, but chuckled, "Please, just Drevas; adding the Mister makes me feel old."
"Oh…how old are you?"
"One hundred and forty-eight," he said without irony. 'Oh my god…' "But, you were saying?"
"Just…a memory, the last one I have of Harry…I can't even remember what we were doing…just that something really bad was happening…" I trailed off, mostly because trying to remember hurt.
"Well," Drevas started, standing and moving to the fireplace, "don't try to force it, it's bound to come back to you in time." I nodded, feeling a bit tired. 'Must be the excitement.' "Now, brace yourself, because I have two things-no, three things- to say to you."
A flash of worry ran through me, 'Oh no, what now?!'
He whipped the lid off the pot over the fire, filling the room with the smell of food, making me realize just how hungry I was; two wooden bowls were produced and filled as Drevas began to speak:
"Firstly, Hermione Granger, based on what I've observed of you so far-your speech patterns and clothes, for instance," here, he gestured to a pile of folded bloodstained clothes next to the door, "-I can say with confidence that you're not from anywhere on Nirn, the world we both find ourselves in," he looked at me, to gauge my reaction no doubt, which was stunned silence, before continuing, "I'm not sure how you got here-I was hoping you'd remember, you see-but if you can get here, you can surely return to your own world, wherever that may be."
A bowl of delicious smelling stew was placed next to me, along with a metal spoon in it, but I couldn't eat; I felt sick. 'Another world?! How? Stupid memories, tell me how this happened!' My head was starting to hurt again-
Grey fingers snapped in front of my face, bringing me back to the present, "What did I say about forcing it?" Drevas chided gently.
"Sorry, it's just…" I trailed off helplessly.
"Yes, well," he looked down at his own bowl, on his armored lap, "stranger things have happened…," he cleared his throat, "Secondly: because you're apparently from another world, you'll have to learn the ways of this one: history and mannerisms, as well as the local culture. And the reason for that," he pointed at me, as I had been about to interrupt, "is to make sure no one suspects you're from another world. Trust me, if less altruistic persons than myself were to find that out … just keep in mind, Hermione, that there are fates worse than death. I'll teach you what I know, and what to expect, while you recover, but when we rejoin the civilized world, it's up to you to make a good impression. We clear?"
I nodded, realizing the severity of my situation. 'But I can do this! Harry's waiting for me!' "And what's the third thing?" I asked evenly, mostly because I wanted to start eating.
He smiled even as his eyes hardened, "You're handling this well. Good, you might just make it…Lastly, and I will not repeat what I'm about to say, so pay attention." 'As if I wasn't already,' I thought, but still focused on his slowly hardening face as he spoke in a quiet voice, "Lastly, I cannot guarantee your safety; beyond that door, there are no such things as civility or mercy. There are things out there that will kill you as soon as look at you, and that's if you're lucky. The Falmer are just the beginning: there are brigands out there that won't hesitate to kill you for your shoes, if not capture and rape you until you break, then sell you to a brothel for a case of ale and a few Septims once they get bored with using you, if not slit your throat and leave you in a ditch; and don't think, for even a second, that they won't, because they will. I've seen them do it," he took a spoonful of stew, eating it, without looking away from my horrified face, before he went on, "There are beasts out there that don't sleep, that can tear you apart in an instant; there are things straight out of your worst nightmares that can do far worse than kill or rape you, trust me on that. I cannot watch out for you and expect to stay alive myself, not against such threats. To wit, I ask: can you defend yourself from such threats?"
Can I … oh, honestly! I reached over to my wand, picked it up, and pointed it at his morsel-laden spoon, "Spongify!"
The look of utter shock and mortification on his face as Drevas' spoon went limp, sending the food he was about to eat back into the bowl with a satisfying 'Plop!' set me to giggling.
He sighed, then, "Alright, so that stick helps you cast spells, then?" I nodded, still grinning, "So, other than making spoons flaccid," he matched my grin, "what can you do?"
My grin went mischievous, "It's called a wand, and from what I can recall, Mister Drevas," ooh, did he look annoyed; serves him right for scaring me, "I've spent the last year with Harry learning every spell we could find, in addition to learning unarmed self-defense; the spell I just used? It's called the Softening Charm, and I can use it on anything."
His eyebrows nearly shot right off his head, before he asked weakly, "Anything?"
I nodded, before adding, "I also know spells that can knock out a person, tie them up, hang them in the air by their ankle," He was looking less impressed, so I upped the ante, "blow them to pieces," that got his attention, "cut their limbs off, or blast through a five-foot thick stone wall, and I can do all that and only get slightly winded. So," I took a bite of stew, and ohhh it was sooo good, "yes, I think I can handle myself." I looked up smugly-
To see a bell-ended mace, midnight black and edged with crackling flames, stop suddenly two inches from my face! "HOLY SHITE!" I fell on my back, looking up in shock at Drevas' grinning face, "What was that for?!"
"That, Miss Granger, was for being cocky. As for the lesson it was meant to convey," he placed the dreadful hammer back by the fireplace, "if an enemy gets too close, your spells won't be worth squat if you don't have a fallback weapon."
That…actually made sense. "Speaking from experience?"
"Yep," he got another spoon from the fireplace mantle and went back to eating.
I cautiously resumed as well, until my curiosity overcame me, "Will you teach me how to fight?"
He looked at me for a second, before, "Nope, and the reason for that is I have literally no formal training in any weapon whatsoever."
I dropped my spoon, "You're joking."
He shrugged, "I'm really not; the bow? I needed to eat. As for any other weapon, I picked it up watching Legionaries train when I was very young, and practicing with a stick. The rest, dodging and whatnot, I learned from an old merc on an expedition I volunteered for. His advice: 'kill them before they kill you.' So no, I can't teach you how to swing a mace or nock a bow, because you might pick up my bad habits and get yourself killed." He finished with a pointed look.
I lowered my head, trying to think of something to say to that…
"I do, however, have a crossbow," I looked up, brightening, as he smiled at me, "and the only requirements to using that are common sense and a steady hand. Up for it?" I nodded enthusiastically. "Alright, we'll start tomorrow." Drevas collected my empty bowl as I yawned. "Get some sleep." And he wandered off to the other side of the room, humming a tune and scratching Scales' fringe as he did.
'Maybe this won't be so terrible,' I thought, as I curled up in my bedroll, 'I'll be home soon, Harry.'
Scales jumped onto the bed, curling up against my back; as I drifted off, I thought of how warm its body was, and heard Drevas mutter "Traitor…" from across the room.
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It begins…
Next time: Hermione prepares, gets a history lesson, and takes her leave of Blackreach.
Thanks for reading!
