Previously, in Son of Lightning, Child of Moon...

Harry wakes up in an in-between place between life, death, and the afterlife, after facing Lord Voldemort alone in the Forbidden Forest. There, he meets the spirit of Albus Dumbledore, who cautions him of the Dark Lord's final Horcrux, revealing that both Harry and the Horcrux have become Masters of Death. A battle breaks out over possession of the Elder Wand, whose owner will emerge as the true Master. But when Harry and the Horcrux's Killing Curses collide, lightning strikes, sending Harry hurtling through an abyssal void...

Preface and Author's Notes:

Thanks to everybody who reviewed my first chapter so far (all 9 of you, here on FFN). You guys rock.

Thanks again to MattSilver, Fiat, and Aekiel (Dovaekiin! Dovaekiin! Nahlok zin los vahriin!), without whose hefty brains this fic would never have gotten off the ground at all. Special thanks to the guys and gals of DLP, who pointed out many flaws in my initial drafts (especially Taure, who deserves credit for educating the rest of us about the differences between large and small penises), as well as the denizens of the SpaceBattles forums, who have provided insights I would have gone without.

This fic is for C.

Chapter 02

It seemed like an eternity had passed, but I had no way of knowing. Time has a weird way of stretching and contracting when you have no way of telling it – but I supposed that was the point of telling the time. People told time how they expected it to behave, and it played along until we were alone and defenseless against its whims.

There was a blue planet below me. It was far, far away, but I could tell that it was coming closer and closer every second. There seemed to be a hurricane, or at least an enormous storm building on one of the continents, and I could see brief flashes of whitish purple light where lightning must have been falling.

The planet came yet closer, appearing larger in my eyes.

No, I realized. I was the one moving towards it, not the other way around. White electricity crackled around me, seemingly agreeing with my assessment.

I closed my eyes but for a moment. When I opened them again, I was in a different place.

The energy that had thus far carried me surrounded me and buoyed me, as if I was floating in it. My eyes burned, and liquid fire raced across my skin. My chest felt like hot coals were roasting inside, and for an instant, I was sure my stomach was being filled with molten slag. I tried to open my eyes, but found that my eyelids were sealed shut by an outside force, and they wouldn't budge, no matter how hard I tried to move them.

I felt a tingle run down through my body, and static ran down from my torso down to my toes. The jolt made my extremities jump, and I shivered.

The energy that crackled around my face and kept my eyes shut subsided, and I found that I could open my eyes. Despite the blurriness, having my vision returned made me realize that I was on my back, looking upwards into the night sky. Stars glittered overhead, and there were two moons, one white, the other red – two moons – that shone eerily brightly, both of them full and heavy in the sky.

Without warning, there was a stab of pain at the base of my head, and I barely stopped it from snapping back as gravity kicked in. The muscles in my neck clenched before relaxing, and realized I could now turn my head.

I looked around me, and saw the storm that raged around me. Titanic grey clouds spun tumultuously with me at the center, as if I was at the eye of the storm. There was lightning flashing and crashing in every direction, just like that storm I saw in the before-place, that starry void with the planet down below. Several moments later, it hit me that I must now be on that planet – storms like this couldn't happen in space, from what little science I could remember from before Hogwarts.

My right hand waved into my field of vision, and it glowed dazzling white, the same pure, shining color of the energy that had carried me here. Electricity crackled, and struck the back of my hand – I winced, closing my eyes at the sudden sensation. When I looked at my hand again, the mark of the Deathly Hallows was there, glowing an eerie green.

The clouds around me welled up, twisting faster and faster, and the white energy seemed to supercharge itself, exerting an ever-increasing pressure on my eardrums. Involuntarily, I yelped in pain – it felt as though my head was tearing itself apart.

The pressure kept on building, and my heart sounded like a massive drum, booming in time with my heartbeat at an overwhelmingly loud volume. I was sure I was screaming in pain, but there was no way to tell; the drums were too loud. My head felt like it was being split in two pieces, and every beat of my heart sent a new pulse of pain crashing into my skull.

Abruptly, the drumbeat stopped, and I nearly wept from relief as the pain halted – only for a blinding light to fill my vision, and shoot straight through my body.

The Cruciatus was nothing – this was true agony. I screamed, and my throat nearly tore from the effort.

Lightning crashed, and I fell.

I awoke to biting winds and cold flecks of snow melting on the tip of my nose.

The first sensation I registered was the sheer coldness I felt, though there seemed to be a small, dwindling source of heat nearby. I was curled up into a ball as if I was a fetus, my arms curled around my shoulders and my knees tucked up to my chest. Something was poking me in the cheek, and it took me several moments to realize that I held the Elder Wand in my right hand – I was shoving it into my face like an idiot.

I was also naked.

I started shivering and chattering my teeth wildly. The Elder Wand slipped from my fingers, and I could feel the digits beginning to freeze over in the blizzard blowing around me.

Shivering violently, I reached out to pick up my wand. My fingers moved sluggishly, feeling as if they weren't a part of my body at all, but with effort, dug the Deathstick out of a patch of dirtied snow.

With bleary eyes, I looked around my surroundings.

My world was a flurry of snow and fire. Shadows danced all around me, flickering and dying. Everything was set aglow with the low light of dying embers, orange light and dark shadows dominating my vision. The light illuminated both the snow around me and the scorched, bare trees that surrounded me on all sides. Dead branches and dried underbrush caught fire and glowed, then turned to black soot that stained and dirtied the snow underneath.

There was an unmistakable stench of burning flesh in the air, and I felt the cold stab into my body like a knife. I couldn't see – everything was blurry, but I could barely make out golden bodies charred and blackened, and powdered snow blowing nearly sideways in the wind.

Where on earth was I?

I staggered to my feet, feeling the blizzard hit my body in full force. My cold-addled brain was unable to provide me with any spells to keep myself warm, and when a lukewarm draft of air hit my side, I hurried over to the source of the heat. I didn't care that it smelled like burnt roast, or that I could make out blurred shapes that looked disturbingly like burning, charred hands under me. The warmth thawed my fingers, slowly invigorating my body until my shivering, though still strong, wasn't uncontrollable.

I needed warmth. The meager warmth that the log provided wasn't enough. I needed a bigger fire, or magic to make me warm, but any incantations I tried to remember died on my lips.

Incendio.

The incantation for the Fire-Making Spell flashed in my mind's eye, and I would have smacked myself in the forehead for forgetting it if doing so wouldn't have resulted in me losing even more body heat.

I readied the Elder Wand, and not feeling confident that I could enunciate clearly, silently cast the spell. I didn't put much care into controlling my magic– all I knew was that I needed to be warmer. Right now.

Fire roared out of the Wand, a veritable inferno blasting out of the focus. The flames lit everything in the vicinity alight, and the cold melted away as dried trees all around me caught fire. The entire area was now one huge bonfire.

I sighed in relief.

Now, if only I could remember how to conjure clothing.

I let the blaze counteract the blizzard's chill, sitting up against a log beside a burning corpse. My head sagged back, using a branch that jutted out of the log as an impromptu pillow. A few minutes passed, when I heard voices in the distance.

Despite the fire around me, the blizzard was powerful enough that I knew staying warm was a losing battle. I was warm for now – but fuel would eventually run out, and I lacked the strength to cast anything more than what I'd already done. I shivered, body still cold from the wind and snow, and I could slowly feel myself falling into unconsciousness.

It was another few minutes before those voices approached. I could hear the gruff shouts and alarmed cries of several men coming from before me, and I could see the vague outlines of tall, bulky-looking men dressed in what looked like blue tunics and medieval armor, crowding by the edge of my fire.

I opened a small gap in the flames with a weak flick of the Elder Wand, and blacked out just as one of them pointed at me, yelling something to his companions.

I dreamt of happier times, before the Second War, of a snowy Christmas morning in the Gryffindor Common Room with my friends.

"...Thalmor…"

A deep, gravelly voice was saying something to me, though I couldn't entirely make out the words. It didn't sound like English, of that much I was sure. Ron and Hermione beckoned me back to sit by the fire to open presents, when a heavy, meaty hand smacked me awake as it impacted against my cheek.

By now, I was getting rather tired of coming out of unconsciousness. I let Voldemort cast his Killing Curse at me in the Forbidden Forest, and woke up in the Hall. Then I went through what now felt like a delirious fever dream as I passed through whatever that void had been. Blacking out from the cold and then being smacked awake after all of that wasn't my idea of a good time.

Neither was being tied to a chair and having my hands restrained behind my back, for that matter. I couldn't move, and whatever that had been used to tie me up was secured so tightly that it dug painfully into my wrists.

I opened my eyes to see who my assailant was, squinting to try and get a clearer view.

He was a big, burly man, heavily muscled and tall of frame. He was dressed in armor that looked to be of steel and some sort of leather, spikes jutting out of his gauntlets and shin guards. He wore the skin of a bear, black-furred claws draped over his shoulder and across his chest, its head and jaws worn like a helmet or a hood. The man had a thick brow, with tense eyebrows, and judging from the bushy beard he'd tied off with a small band of twine or leather, had blond hair.

The man's gloved hands grabbed me by the collar – I'd been dressed in rags while I was out, it seemed – and shook me none too gently. He growled at me again, sayings words that I scarcely understood, though they sounded like an odd mix between Italian and one of the Scandinavian languages. He dropped me, chair and all, and waved his hands in front of my face. Apparently he was asking me something.

He repeated that word from before – Thalmor – and glowered at me.

"I don't understand what you're saying." I growled. My cheek stung something awful, but I supposed I was glad that he'd smacked me open-handed with the palm of his hand. The sharp spikes on the back of his gauntlets looked absolutely vicious.

The bear-headed man turned to look at something behind him. I was already narrowing my eyes considerably, and couldn't focus my sight any further. I could see the vaguest outlines of another man, standing on a pedestal or elevated surface of some sort, and it seemed as though there were horns growing from his head at jagged, irregular angles.

"Galmar…" The man said a few words, though he repeated that one a few times. I could tell he was ranked higher than Bear Head from his gestures, and the way that the armored hulk responded to him, though I still couldn't see any of his features. The light was angled into my face as well, before Bear Head loomed into view again and hunkered down on a stool that he'd brought. He said some more gibberish to me, evidently quite agitated.

"I told you, I don't understand what you're saying." Bear Head growled in frustration at my response. He didn't understand me either, apparently. He reached down to grab my collar again, when the horned man interjected.

"…Galmar…" The horned man said something to Bear Head, and I realized that the unfamiliar word was the name of the man who had hit me. Galmar sighed, and instead of grabbing me, he picked up the chair I was seated on, turned it to face the other way, me still on it. I heard a blade being drawn, and I flinched – but relaxed a moment later when I felt my bonds being cut.

Blood rushed back into my hands, and they tingled as sensation returned to my extremities. I ran a hand through my bangs, and traced my lightning bolt scar as I did. Despite what I now knew about its true nature, the familiar motions served to calm me.

"Thanks." I said, ignoring Galmar and looking pointedly in the horned man's direction as I did.

"I take it you're the ones who brought me here?" I asked, though I knew they wouldn't understand. I waved my hands around, and pointed downwards with my forefingers. The pair made confused noises. Apparently, I was a horrible mime.

"Never mind." I sighed, cheek still stinging.

Despite my rough treatment at their hands, they'd clothed me, and seemed more interested in learning about me than killing me. I had no idea where I was, or when it was, if Galmar's attire was anything to go by, and any help I could get was welcome. The two moons that I saw earlier were also a bad sign.

It was then that I noticed, rather belatedly, that I didn't know where my wand was. For a moment, I almost panicked – I couldn't cast magic without a wand, after all – but as if reading my thoughts, I felt something that I could only describe as a mental nudge brush my mind, and had a brief impression that the Elder Wand was reassuring me of its presence.

I looked down, and I noticed that there was a sort of marking on the back of my right hand. I ran the fingers of my left hand over it, acutely aware of the scrutiny of the two men before me. The skin was raised, feeling like scarred tissue, and as I traced my forefinger over it, I realized what it was.

It was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

I felt the same nudging at the back of my mind again, and the Elder Wand conveyed feelings of patience and assurance. There would be time later for experimentation, it seemed. It would come when called.

The horned man said something then, and moved towards me. Galmar moved protectively over him, but the horned man offered a few words, and the burly man stood down.

He stood in front of me, standing nearly a foot taller than me. It was easier to make out physical details when he was this close, and I noted that he had a large, prominent nose, strong brow, and a healthy amount of facial hair. Galmar reminded me of a bear simply because of his size and because he dressed as one. The horned man, on the other hand, seemed to project a predatory gleam from his eyes, and felt both physically and mentally strong enough to do so if he wished to hunt someone down. He wore a heavy fur cape, and intricately detailed, black armor.

He didn't have horns either, I could see now. It was a crown sitting atop his head, jagged and cruel in shape, and looked like it had been crafted from bones or teeth, held together by a band of hammered steel. The man stood authoritatively, and I surmised that he was in a position of authority. Galmar at the very least seemed to defer to him.

"Ulfric." He then pointed at me, an expectant expression on his face.

"Har-," I started, not sure if I wanted to give him my real name, before settling on a compromise, "My name is Harold."

"Harald?" Ulfric questioned, his eyes widening a small amount before accepting my answer and nodding. Galmar seemed to react to the name as well, so it must have been of some significance. Ulfric reached over to a table close by, and retrieved a roll of parchment. He unfurled it to reveal a map, and pointed to a city on the northeastern end of the borders.

"Vindhelm." He pointed to himself again, then at the floor, then back at the city on the map, before repeating himself. "Vindhelm."

His name was Ulfric. He was from Vindhelm, which was the city we were now in.

Was he asking where I was from?

I looked at the map, recognizing none of the features, nor able to read any of the names on it. At a loss, I pointed to the ceiling.

"I'm from the United Kingdom."

Ulfric, as though he had expected to not understand a word out of my mouth, nodded, and gestured at Galmar, who seemed to want to protest the matter, but sulkily stepped back.

"Wuunferth." Ulfric ordered, and Galmar stalked off, disappearing behind a corner.

What in the hell was a Wuunferth?

As it turned out, Wuunferth was an old man with an attitude problem.

Galmar had come jogging back several minutes after Ulfric had sent him away. He'd seemed annoyed and a little agitated, though not at Ulfric himself, who said something to Galmar that made him harrumph rather loudly and walk out of the room.

"Harald. Vele." Ulfric gestured for me to follow. I stored that bit of vocabulary away for later. He stalked out of the room through the stone archway that Galmar had taken. My feet wobbled a bit, but I managed to walk after him in fairly good time.

Ulfric led me out to a large hall, lit by torches placed at eye level evenly along walls made of heavy grey stone. There was a massive blue and gold flag hanging behind an impressive stone throne, emblazoned with an insignia of some sort of predatory animal baring its teeth. Standing beside it was Galmar, and behind him, a thin figure in black attire.

"Harald, ost neth Wuunferth." Ulfric waited for me to catch up, and waved Galmar and the other figure over. It was clear that he wanted to introduce us.

"Wuunferth, ich Harald," Ulfric said to the figure, who stepped forward close enough for me to take in his features. I squinted, noting to myself that I really needed to conjure myself a new set of glasses once I had some privacy. I didn't know if these were people stuck in the Dark Ages. For all I knew, witch hunts were still a thing here.

The Elder Wand nudged the back of my mind again, seemingly reassuring me that it would be more than able to assist. I got the impression that it wasn't in any hurry, and after giving a moment, found myself in agreement. I found it a little disconcerting that I didn't think much of having something other than my own mind poking around in my head considering the circumstances, but waved those thoughts away for later. There were more pressing concerns right now.

Wuunferth reminded me a bit of Dumbledore, if the professor was on a permanent bender and looked tired, cranky, and hung over. He dressed in hooded black robes with faded gold trim, and had bony, wrinkled hands that probably hadn't been washed for weeks. His skin was sallow, and marked with blemishes brought on by age and bad maintenance. Oddly enough though, he smelled rather pleasant – of herbs and chemicals, reminding me of the way the Hogwarts Potions Laboratory used to smell, sickly sweet and pungent.

That he perpetually kept his hood up didn't help improve my impressions of him any. The hood kept his eyes obscured, and it was hard to tell where the old man was looking at any given time. He also refused to look anywhere near my eyes whenever I tried to get a closer look at him, and I had a distinct feeling that this was because he didn't think I was worth his time.

He stood with good posture, his back straight and stance alert, but his hands were held in front of him like claws. All in all, the man set me on edge, though he didn't seem overtly hostile or dangerous. He scowled at me, making it obvious that he was unhappy to be here.

"Erm, hello?" I offered, not quite sure what Ulfric wanted to achieve by having me meet with the man. Wuunferth glowered at me. It was then that I noticed that there were thin windows along one of the walls, and that it was pitch black outside.

Ah. His sleep had been interrupted, or something to that effect.

"Wuunferth, val micht ifen." Ulfric clapped a hand down on Wuunferth's frail-looking shoulder, momentarily setting him off balance. "Galmar, velem necht."

He walked over to the big throne, and sat down.

"Wuunferth, Harald. Ehl goth." Galmar grunted, and guided the two of us down another hall. He waved at what appeared to be a man dressed in servant's clothes, and they stood to attention and trailed behind us.

We walked down darkened hallways, and Galmar led the way with his torch. The air wasn't musty or stale, so I knew that this was a well-traveled corridor – they were probably trying to save on firewood by keeping the lights off.

Soon, we arrived at a closed door, and Galmar grunted at Wuunferth, who produced a key. It took him several moments to unlock the door, and pushed it open.

It was utterly dark inside, and the only source of light was Galmar's torch, which illuminated the outlines of strange objects with a flickering orange glow. Wuunferth muttered a word, and a ball of white light that seemed to diffract into the spectrum of the rainbow at its edges appeared, hovering gently overhead. He raised an eyebrow at Galmar, who harrumphed loudly and looked the other way. That wasn't important, however.

Wuunferth just used magic.

That took me by surprise. I looked on in interest as Wuunferth went around the room, his ball of light bathing everything in a pale white light, and lit the torches and braziers lining the walls with waves of his hands. Soon, the entirety of the room was apparent, torches burning cheerily along the four walls.

I looked around the laboratory, curious. Though I couldn't recognize any of the equipment, everything somehow seemed familiar. Strange fauna and flora lined the shelves on one wall of the room, and a collection of heavy, leather-bound books another. The final wall had a large fireplace that housed a cooking spit and what appeared to be a rack for a cauldron or two, though it currently wasn't lit.

The things on the shelves were all alien to me, though I could hazard guesses to what they were. There were several bowls of different kinds of dusts of all colors, what had to be a jar filled with a large number of insect eyes, all manner of herbs both dried and fresh, and various other bits and pieces of creatures and plants. Potions ingredients and reagents, then.

Galmar stood at the doorway, the servant standing beside him in a subservient fashion. He nodded at Wuunferth, who extinguished his ball of light with a gesture, grumbled, and sat down at a table. He gestured for me to take a seat opposite him. Seeing no reason not to, I did as he asked, curious as to what he was going to do.

Unbidden, my stomach growled loudly, and I felt heat flush my cheeks.

"Vreth han suuth." Galmar said to the servant, who scurried off to do his bidding before I could get a proper look. The servant soon returned, with a basket of bread and a small pot of what appeared to be cold soup. He quickly set the basket down on our table, before bowing curtly and taking the pot over to the cooking spit. He set about trying to light a fire.

I frowned. Wuunferth apparently wasn't interested in helping the servant out at all, and neither was Galmar.

"Harald… nas ich?" Wuunferth seemed to ask, reaching for a piece of bread. It had long since gone cold, much like the contents of the pot, but looked absolutely delicious in my current state of hunger.

Wuunferth tore off a piece, offering me the larger chunk. I took it, hungry but cautious, watching him until he got the hint and popped his piece into his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully.

The old man looked me over, scrutinizing my face.

"Nas fost… Breton?" He questioned, and I recognized the word, though his inflection seemed off. The servant flinched at the name, though neither Wuunferth nor Galmar seemed to notice. I decided to keep an eye on the servant, somewhat wary and feeling my ire rise at his mistreatment.

"Um, yeah. I'm from Britain. The UK." I answered, taking a bite out of my own piece of bread. It tasted a little like rye bread, though it smelled lightly of an herb I couldn't identify. I decided it was palatable, and took another bite. I chewed some more, feeling some strength return to my limbs.

"Hm." Wuunferth frowned, and I wondered if I'd answered wrongly when he produced a roll of parchment from within his robes. He unfurled it, revealing it to be a smaller, if more complete map than the one Ulfric had shown me earlier. It showed what appeared to be the entire continent, and I saw that the country Vindhelm was a part of only took up a modest section up north.

"Das Vindhelm. Ich ost Skalriim." Wuunferth pointed at Vindhelm again. Vindhelm was a part of Skalriim, apparently. I nodded to show that I understood, and Wuunferth pointed his finger towards me, then at a country on the western end of the landmass. "Nas Hjaal Roc?"

"No, that's not where I'm from." I shook my head, guessing at his questions. Wuunferth's frown deepened, and he pointed to another location on the map.

"Nas Cyrodiil?" I shook my head. Wuunferth began pointing at other countries on the map one by one. "Morrovind? Hammefel? Elsveyr? Valtz Marsch? …Aldmeris?"

"That's not it either. No, not there either. Or that," I sighed, unable to keep my frustration from my tone. There was no point to this. I pointed outside of the map, jabbing my finger down on the table. "Look, I don't recognize anything on this map."

"Nas Akavir?" Wuunferth instead questioned, apparently surprised. I shook my head again.

"No, not there either, wherever this Akavir is. I told you," I pointed to the ceiling this time, not bothering to hide my irritation now, "I'm from the UK. The United Kingdom. The Wizarding World, in fact."

Wuunferth shook his head and turned to look at Ulfric, shrugging his shoulders. Ulfric said nothing, staring down imperiously at the old man. Wuunferth sighed, and appeared to consider his options.

They were eager to find out more about me, that much was already obvious. They were unsure of how to go about it though, aside from treating me with some common courtesy. If their treatment of their servants was any indication however, it didn't bode well for me if I didn't provide them with what they wanted sooner rather than later. Considering that they'd found me in a blizzard with corpses burning beside me, sooner was probably better than later.

I needed some common ground, something that would establish that we had more in common than not. Otherwise, I might find myself back out in the cold.

The servant still hadn't been able to light the fireplace, fumbling about and dropping his flint and tinder again. I saw my opportunity. Wuunferth had gotten up and was about to say something to the servant – I assumed it would be something rather rude and unkind – when I put my hand in a calming gesture.

"Look, Wuunferth, right? Let me help." I said, as gently as I could manage in the circumstances. Apparently, he was either too surprised to too curious to refuse me outright, and sat down. I stood up, taking care to keep my movements slow and obvious.

Galmar slowly moved his hand towards a sword that hung at his waist – I paid him no mind, and thought about the Elder Wand. There was a brief flutter at the back of my mind, just like before, and I held my right hand out in front of me.

One moment, my hand was empty. The next, it held the Elder Wand.

Wuunferth and Galmar started, the latter nearly drawing his blade in surprise, but I stretched my left hand out in what I hoped was a pacifying gesture.

"It's all right. Let me help." I repeated myself, in the same, gentle tone as before. I stepped towards the servant, who was quite beside himself in fear.

I motioned for him to move aside, and he complied rather quickly.

Despite my delirium during my stint out in the snow, my memory of it was clear. I remembered what had happened to my Fire-Starting Spell when I had cast it in desperation. The Elder Wand had fueled it, magnifying my intent, and caused an inferno to burn nearly everything in the vicinity.

I couldn't afford to do that here, especially in such a small space. I took a moment to concentrate, and whispered the incantation.

"Incendio." A small jet of flame shot out of the Elder Wand with much more force than I'd intended it to – but it was manageable, and I quickly got it under control. Soon, there was a fire burning cheerily in the fireplace, and I turned to Wuunferth and Galmar with a smile on my face.

Galmar harrumphed, sniffing in my direction. Wuunferth on the other hand, positively beamed.

He really needed to brush his teeth.

It appeared that wizards were barmy in any setting, at least when it came to magic. Wuunferth was giddy like a child in the moments following my lighting of that fireplace in what I later learned was his official laboratory. He had a stupid-looking grin on his face that wasn't the least bit pleasant to look at, given the state of his teeth, but the look of intense interest in his eyes was too much like Hermione's when she found something that intrigued her in some esoteric book or another.

The old wizard's enthusiasm meant that I didn't even get to taste my soup before I was set upon by a tidal wave of questions and exaggerated gestures, much to my chagrin.

A couple of ticks up the intensity scale, if there were such a thing, would have put Wuunferth squarely at Dobby's level when he was freed from the Malfoys. In retrospect, I was fortunate that Wuunferth was more interested in what I could do than how I was able to do those things.

It had taken Wuunferth several minutes to remember that no, I couldn't speak his language or even read it, and that nothing he said was getting through to me. Added to the fact that I was exhausted – it was the middle of the night and I was still recuperating from the blizzard after all – I was just about ready to keel over.

My cheek throbbed. So did my head. I had no interest in casting any more spells. The effort it had taken for me to cast and control a single Fire-Starting Spell was much greater than I'd anticipated. I felt the Elder Wand acquiesce, as if sensing my intentions, and there was an itching sensation on the back of my right hand as it disappeared soundlessly.

A gruff word from Galmar was enough to remind Wuunferth of my condition, and embarrassment was plainly visible in his eyes as he breathed deeply to calm himself. He was noticeably calmer in a few moments, though a nearly predatory gleam of academic interest remained in his gaze.

That was last night, before I'd had a good night's sleep in what I surmised to be one of the guest rooms here. After calming down, Wuunferth had passionately argued his case to Galmar, then Ulfric. His case was apparently to set me up in a modestly sized room with an extremely comfortable bed.

I'd needed some help getting up three flights of stairs. My interrogation by Galmar and Ulfric, followed by Wuunferth's questions, had tired me out despite their brevity. I vaguely recalled Wuunferth tucking me into bed before falling into the deepest sleep I'd had in recent memory, and I'd woken up as daylight began to stream in through the windows. The blizzard, it seemed, had ended.

I felt good, though the clothes I was wearing at present were course and chafed my skin. The slight discomfort was negligible in face of how energized I felt. It seemed that one night of rest and a single piece of bread were enough for me to get my strength back. The Elder Wand nudged my mind at that thought. Apparently, it wanted to be let out.

I was just about to summon the Hallow, when there was a knock at my door.

"Um, just a moment!" I called out, before remembering that whoever was knocking wouldn't understand me. It was just as likely for them to assume that I'd allowed them in, rather than the opposite.

My suspicions were confirmed when a maid came in carrying a stack of clothes, dressed in the same attire I'd seen on the other servant from last night, though cut into a blouse and skirt rather than a shirt and trousers. She had her hair concealed under a medieval-looking cap, though I could tell that she was a blonde. She was tall, I noticed - certainly taller than me, at the very least - and was hardily built.

She curtsied briefly, her expression unreadable, and walked over to the bed. She set the clothes she was carrying down on a table by the bed, before unfolding each of them and placing them at the foot of my bed. She was offering me a choice between them. It was then that I realized that the clothes were intended for me to wear, and I felt like an idiot for not noticing.

Apparently, Wuunferth had negotiated for more than a room for me to stay in.

The maid kept glancing up at me while she worked though, and was oddly avoiding looking at my face. In fact, it seemed that she was looking squarely at the covers where my-

Oh.

She smiled coyly, and kept working. Apparently, the sheets weren't as thick as I thought they were. I could feel my cheeks reddening, but it was a matter of pride now. I made no motion to conceal myself despite the mortification I felt, and instead looked at the clothes the servant girl had brought up.

There were several modes of fashion here, apparently, though they all seemed incredibly gaudy and luxurious. Silks and cottons were prevalent, often accompanied by expensive-looking furs and flashy jewels sewn into the fabric.

Everything there looked very warm and comfortable, despite its gauche nature. I supposed that made sense. There was a blizzard the previous night, after all, and from what I remembered of the maps Ulfric and Wuunferth showed me, Vindhelm was located at the northern end of the northernmost region of the landmass.

The servant girl looked at me expectantly. I was expected to choose out of the selection she'd brought up, it seemed, but everything here was much too flashy for my tastes, not to mention that I didn't feel comfortable taking what had to be very expensive clothes from Ulfric.

"I'd rather not have any of those if it's all the same to you, Miss." I shook my head at the girl, who seemed confused.

"I don't suppose you have anything simpler?" I frowned, despite knowing that she wouldn't understand. She didn't, from what I saw, and began gathering the clothes up in a hurry. It seemed that she was a bit scared, and I wasn't sure of what she possibly had to be scared of, until I remembered that to her, I was what amounted to a foreign guest of Ulfric's. She was worried about offending me.

I was dimly aware of the notion that if I refused the clothes, I might commit an awful social faux pas – but decided that since I wasn't going to be comfortable wearing anything that seemed overly pricy to begin with, I might as well arrange for my own clothes myself.

"It's all right, then. I'll take care of it." I said, offering a placating hand.

I called the Elder Wand. Finally, it seemed to convey, and materialized in my hand. I felt the symbol of the Hallows on the back of my hand itch terribly. When I looked, the symbol was missing something – the line down the center of it. That line represented the Wand, from what Xenophilius Lovegood had told us earlier in the year.

Well, that's interesting, I noted to myself, and pointed it at the clothes I was currently dressed in.

I was still wearing the same rags as last night. Course, yellowing threads of linen scratched my chest, and I focused on that sensation as I imagined the clothes transforming into something I was both more familiar and more comfortable with.

Transfiguration of articles of clothing into other articles of clothing was a practice that was frowned upon, back home. For one, an incomplete visualization of the end result would often result in the original piece of clothing being permanently damaged or at least very difficult to repair with magic. Then, there were other business-related reasons mandated by the Ministry. I imagined it was something comparable to how the manufacture of gold coins was prohibited for anybody not working for Gringott's, though Hermione had chastised me for making a factually incorrect simplification when I voiced my thoughts to her. The point was, a large proportion of wizards tended to prefer having the real thing over a conjured or transfigured piece of clothing.

I had the Elder Wand, however – and I knew the transfiguration would end up perfect. The Wand seemed to assure me of the notion as I thought it, and I concentrated. I didn't really remember anything but the most basic incantation. If I was back home, I would ask nearly anybody for a more specific spell, but I wasn't. Still, I was well rested and calm. I could do this.

Besides, being the owner of the Elder Wand was just blatantly cheating.

"Texofors."

I felt a stream of magic wash out from the Wand, enveloping my rags in a thin layer of energy. Within moments, the linen began to stretch and contort, changing in color to become white, and buttons popped into existence where there were none before. Soon, the raggedy tunic I was wearing had become a freshly cleaned button-up shirt of the kind I used to wear under my robes at Hogwarts. I was a far way away from home, and a little nostalgia never hurt anybody. I got up from the bed, and repeated the process with the linen trousers, which became a comfortable pair of jeans. I added thick, insulated socks, and a pair of browned leather boots suited for both running and walking. I tapped my toes against the cold floor to improve the fit, a smile finding its way to my face.

I was no slouch at Transfiguration, but it never came easily to me. With the Elder Wand however, I could scarcely believe the ease with which I could use magic.

I looked up, meeting the servant's eyes as she frowned. She looked quite offended, and hurriedly gathered up the clothes she had brought. A haughty sniff and the most impolite curtsy that I had ever seen later, she stalked off.

Well, that went well. I'd gone and annoyed someone I was likely going to have to rely on in the future. I was right about the social faux pas thing, at least.

This language barrier thing was going to cause me even more trouble soon. I just knew it. The Elder Wand soundlessly tittered its amusement.

"Shut up, you." I muttered, pointing the damn thing at a small piece of metal on the bedside table – it looked like a knife, though it was too blurry to really tell. Feeling more confident in my skills, especially with the Elder Wand handily at my disposal, I decided to wing the spell.

"Fors." I incanted, and smiled in satisfaction as the knife appeared to warp in shape, molding itself into a pair of glasses – complete with glass lenses. I walked out of my room, casting a silent Summoning Charm as I did. This particular spell, I was more than confident in.

The glasses landed lightly into my open hand, the Wand guiding them with a gentle grace that I could have never managed. I was always more of a point-and-shoot type of wizard than anything. I slipped the frames over my ears, and opened my eyes to confirm that the corrective lenses that I'd transfigured were a perfect fit for my vision. I headed out of the room, a quick flick of the Wand closing the heavy, wooden door with nary a sound.

The servant girl was waiting for me, still frowning – she'd passed the clothes I'd refused along to someone else apparently, and stood a few steps off from the doorway. I considered her for a moment.

"You were assigned to me, weren't you?" I queried, the words coming out of my mouth as a sigh. As much as I appreciated any servant's efforts, I didn't really like the idea of standing over other men and women like I was better than them. I guess a childhood spent under a staircase and doing the bulk of the housework without pay or three meals a day would do that to a person, but it wouldn't do to dwell on the past. The girl blinked, her expression puzzled, before she returned to her scowling.

She said something, and started walking away. From the way she stopped after a few steps to see if I was following made her intentions obvious, and I hastened to follow. She was taller than me, and she had a brisk pace – I had trouble keeping up.

The servant girl led me down a couple flights of stairs that opened up into the hall that Ulfric had introduced me to Wuunferth in the previous evening – if I'd only slept one night, that is.

Wuunferth was there to greet me, and the girl curtsied – this time a lot less forcefully than when she had left my room – before falling back a step or two behind me. Apparently she took her job seriously.

"Harald, yacht tam." Wuunferth said, and I smiled politely in return, managing to hide a grimace at the state of his teeth. He looked me over, taking in my state of dress and my glasses. His surprise was visible in the way his eyebrows rose comically.

Wuunferth's eyes lit up like early Christmas though, and he immediately set about poking and prodding at the fabric of my shirt, and I noted, carefully avoided touching the Elder Wand still clutched in my hand. There appeared to be a thousand questions racing about in his head, and his enthusiasm was quickly followed by keen disappointment, most likely due to not being able to ask me directly.

"Hrm." Wuunferth cleared his throat, appearing to calm himself down. He still looked as if he couldn't bear not being able to communicate his curiosity to me, but managed anyway. He put a wrinkly hand on my shoulder, and pointed with the other at the dining table in the middle of the hall. "Harald, vreth?"

"Sure." I nodded, and willed the Elder Wand away. The back of my hand itched again, and I knew without looking that the Wand had returned to its position at the center of the Deathly Hallows symbol.

It turned out that my earlier assessments of Wuunferth were entirely correct. He was of a transparent disposition who wore his emotions on his sleeve, and to the misfortune of his acquaintances, that meant that he was moody, cranky, and downright unpleasant most of the time. The only times he wasn't grumbling about something or other, or seemed outraged at something were when he was working in his laboratory, or doing something important for Ulfric. Even then, he often muttered under his breath, though it was hard to tell if he was complaining or simply thinking aloud.

I supposed I was lucky that his taking me on a tour of Vindhelm fit both of those criteria.

The decision for him to do so was reached over breakfast as I'd looked on in ignorant interest. Ulfric, Galmar, Wuunferth, and what I assumed to be another of Ulfric's advisors were conversing amongst themselves while I chewed on a sandwich I'd made out of slices of cold roast wedged in a piece of that rye-herb bread, the same stuff as from the night before. Wuunferth and Galmar were particularly vocal, each trying to out-talk the other. Ulfric himself only nodded and offered a few words, appearing to try to hear both of them out equally.

The two just seemed to rub each other the wrong way, I noted.

Ulfric had put his foot down after a few minutes of squabbling, apparently deciding on something, and that had been the end of it. I'd caught a few words I'd recognized – there were two that they'd repeated the most. The first was their name for me: Harald.

The other was Thalmor.

It sounded like a name, though it didn't take a genius to figure out that they thought I had something to do with whatever this Thalmor thing was. I needed to find out more about it, I decided. I went back to savoring my sandwich as Ulfric began directing his subordinates.

That had been two hours ago. Now, I walked the streets of Vindhelm with Wuunferth as my guide, and a veritable platoon of guards wearing blue cloak over their armor, and helmets that tapered to a point at the top following our every move. We drew the eyes of the citizenry as well, and people stopped and stared as Wuunferth and I as he pointed out one feature of the city or another to me. He was a famous figure here, it seemed, and it wasn't every day that he walked the streets – with a guest, no less.

Vindhelm wasn't a large city by my modern standards, but from the boastful tone in Wuunferth's voice, it must have been a rather large settlement by Skahlriim's standards. It was a major seat of power, from what I could tell from Wuunferth's gestures, and he didn't bother hiding his pride. He was surprisingly easy to understand even though there was a large language barrier between us, and he'd used his small, rolled up map of the continent – Tamriel, I now knew – and a series of creative motions with his hands to get his points across. Vindhelm was the capital of Skahlriim, from the looks of it, nestled into a mountain range near the northern edge of the region of Yestmark.

The instant I stepped outside, I felt the cold air sap heat away from my body, despite the heavy furs that Wuunferth had had brought up after we'd eaten. A quick charm had fixed that, eliciting a curious glance from the old wizard, and despite the apprehension of our guards, I'd cast the same Warming Charm on him when he eagerly volunteered himself to be subject to my magic. He chuckled when the charm hit him, happily proclaiming something.

The man was enthusiastic about magic, to say the least. I had to give him that much.

We'd walked around an affluent district to the west – a look at the building I'd been a guest of until then had revealed it to be a large fortress with high walls and tall doors, built of menacing black stones. Since it was the home of Ulfric, who I'd learned was ruler of Vindhelm and king of Skahlriim, I'd elected to call it the Palace. There were braziers all along the square, blocky walls, though they were unlit given the amount of daylight. Guards patrolled along the walls and towers of the fortress, and with my glasses now on, I could see that they each were armed with a sword at the hip, and shouldered a bow and a quiver of arrows. The guards following Wuunferth and I were less heavily armed. Some of them had swords strapped to their belts and shields on their arms, while others had the same bows and arrows as their counterparts patrolling the wall tops.

The district we were walking in now was called Valunstrad, and appeared to be a high-class neighborhood. Houses that would have been best described as manors lined both sides of a well-kept cobblestone path, and a hum of energy filled the air.

Fresh flowers bloomed as if it was spring in several of the houses' lawns, and the energy seemed to come from them. I turned to ask Wuunferth, when he pointed at the Elder Wand, having anticipated my question.

Magic kept the flowers alive, even throughout blizzards and cold weather.

The people of Vindhelm openly used magic to tend to flowers, and wizards like Wuunferth casually made use of it to provide light and heat for themselves. Despite this, they still used servants who couldn't cast any magic – the servant from Wuunferth's lab, for instance – and took their orders from a man who didn't appear to be able to use magic at all. The more I learned, the more questions rose in my mind.

The Elder Wand stayed silent all throughout my musing, offering no insights. As far as I knew, there weren't any magical means to learn a language – sure, there were ways to accelerate learning and improve retention, but those all involved potions made with ingredients I didn't think I'd find around here even if I knew how to brew them. There probably was a way to implant knowledge that involved Legilimency as well, but all that was meaningless unless I had somebody to teach me. I wasn't about to go about plucking the knowledge about a person's head, after all, though that assumed that I would be able to in the first place. I wasn't even sure if the Wand would be of any help to me if I was to try anyway, and the Mind Arts weren't a strong suit of mine to begin with.

For the moment then, I had to stick to the old fashioned way, and that was to learn the local language by myself.

Wuunferth tapped me on the shoulder, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Nas ich Valunstrad. Ost ich Ghel Od." He said, gesturing first to a wide town square, where there was a stone building with a heavy, triangular roof with a cheery bonfire burning in a gathering area in the front. He then pointed to his map, letting me know that we were in the middle of town, directly south of the Palace. Sure enough, I could see the fortress a small ways off in the distance, looming over the city.

Wuunferth launched into a wordy explanation about the Ghel Od, and I nodded along for his benefit. He knew I didn't understand, of course – but he seemed to enjoy it, and it was interesting for me to try and guess at what he was trying to convey. The finer points were most definitely lost in translation, but I had enough presence of mind to be able to piece the contextual clues his gestures provided me and the things I saw in the city together to paint a mental picture of Vindhelm.

The city wasn't large, from my point of view at least, but from the scale of Wuunferth's maps compared to the actual city around me, it was home to several thousand people. Seven or eight thousand people lived here, give or take. There were probably ten thousand at the most, though I had little expertise in the matter. The population I'd estimated felt right, even though it was purely speculation based on my gut feeling.

There were a few people who stopped and stared as we passed. Wuunferth paid them no mind, and the guards kept them from getting too close – though whether that was for my benefit or theirs, I couldn't tell. Some men and women looked at Wuunferth with vaguely distrustful looks, but others didn't seem to have the same attitudes towards him. Some others looked at me, making rings over their eyes with their fingers. They were mimicking my glasses, I realized, the notion that this was a society that didn't have corrective lenses still new to me.

"Harald, ich Lhegas ost Vindhelm!" Wuunferth suddenly exclaimed. He pointed to a gigantic set of rust-colored steel doors set into the outer walls of the city. He showed me his map, indicating that these were the main gates to the city. They were heavy-looking, imposing things, glistening in the menacingly in the sunlight. The gates were open right now, and a number of guards were standing around it with spears at the ready.

The gates were beautiful, in their simple, brutal design. They opened up into the town square, which was a wide, curving area with low steps creating elevation, like a low hill with thin slices of it cut out to make stairs. Lit bonfires peppered the square, melting some of the snow that layered the ground around them. For the most part however, most of the square was covered in snow, though it appeared to have been shoveled away, or in some patches, melted away, most likely with magic.

Tall blond folk made up most of the people walking about the square, generally going about their morning routines. Some stopped to look at Wuunferth and I, curious, disdainful, or a combination of both, while most simply ignored us in favor of their own business. Amongst the crowd however, I could make out some individuals with black hair and dark skin, or some with golden skin and even brighter hair. They were all thin and willowy, though the dark-skinned people were short, some even shorter than I was, while the gold-skinned ones were by contrast extremely tall.

"Wuunferth, who are they?" I asked, pointing at several of them in quick succession, well aware of how rude it would have been back in Britain. It took him a while to understand what I was asking, but it was readily clear when he did. His giddy grin shifted into a frown within moments, and he put on a distasteful face.

"Harald, ich Dunmer och Altmer." Wuunferth began, his voice lowering into a mutter.

"They're what, exactly?" I asked again.

"Harald, ost Mer. Mer, Harald. Mer." He kept emphasizing that one word, like it was a curse. They looked normal enough, though a cursory glance at an ash-skinned Dunmer who'd come close revealed him to have sharp, angular features, with slanted red eyes, as well as pointed ears. It was unusual, sure, but I'd seen stranger beings coexist in relative peace before.

I shrugged, ignoring Wuunferth's sour look. I didn't see why he was so worked up about it.

I would have asked, if the low, booming sound of a horn hadn't caused Wuunferth and the guards to freeze, and the townspeople to begin panicking en masse.

It was an alarm.

People ran into the nearest buildings they could find, and guards began streaming into the town square, assembling by the gates. Wuunferth grabbed me by the shoulder in a swift, jarring movement, yelled something into my face, and tried to drag me off, presumably to safety. I didn't let him.

A compulsion to stay rooted me to the ground. My body refused to move an inch, to consider retreat. Wuunferth could try all he wanted; I had to be here. I had to witness something. It was a baseless, irrational feeling. It might as well have been instinct.

I felt a presence approach. There was no other way to describe it – I just knew that something big, timeless, and powerful was about to make itself known. I didn't know what I sensed, how I knew, or why – not that I cared. The Elder Wand crooned in my mind, and I let it materialize in my hand.

The horn rang out again, a deep, menacing note that seemed to vibrate in my bones.

A beast roared in return, its cry thundering over the city.

"Dovah." Wuunferth whispered, fear written into every syllable, his voice wavering.

A shadow passed overhead, winged, and reptilian. I knew what it was. I'd seen that silhouette enough times for it to be etched into my memory for good. Guards all along the walls began notching arrows to their bows, waiting for the order to shoot –

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

A dragon hovered in front of the city gates, and belched a river of white-hot flame onto Vindhelm's defenders. Fire rained down on the hapless city guard, melting flesh and stone alike as the dragon unleashed its attack. Molten rock trickled down from the high walls of the city, cooling rapidly in the frigid northern air – it coagulated in big, goopy droplets within seconds, giving the impression that the stone walls of the city were made of black wax.

The dragon roared, ending its fires, and flew upwards. It soared around the city, circling around the town square like an overgrown hawk – before it spoke again. Its voice was a whisper and a shout all at once, seemingly reverberating in my skull.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!" It voiced again, and its inferno rained down on the city again. Dozens of yards of a city block somewhere east of me went up in flames.

The dragons I knew from the Wizarding World were mindless beasts. They were large, ferocious, and deadly, but they were simple animals in the end. Magical though they might have been, they lacked intellect, and they thus lacked speech.

This dragon Shouted into my mind, its voice forcibly affecting the world around it to suit its whims. I could feel it rattling the inside of my head, and could faintly sense its hungry, voracious intellect lurking in the deep. It was timeless, a creature used to absolute dominance, that did not need to fear death, for it had no equals aside from its own kin.

The sigil on the back of my hand burned. The dragon had turned the eastern block of Vindhelm into an inferno. It had murdered dozens of soldiers, and many more townsfolk besides. It wasn't a simple beast – it wasn't doing this out of hunger.

No, this was something else.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!" The dragon Shouted a third time, heading directly for the town square. I was ready for it.

A normal Shield Charm wouldn't cut it. I didn't know any spells powerful enough to deflect dragonfire. I had to improvise, and the thought filled me with trepidation – but the Elder Wand was a comforting presence at the back of my mind. I could do this, and I would do this. The Wand was mine, and it would make this work. I would make this work.

I am the Master of Death.

Wuunferth cowered behind me, unable to get me to move, unable to escape, though whether it was due to fear, duty, or loyalty, I couldn't tell. White fire burned through soldiers and panicking citizens alike as the dragon homed in on me, and I threw everything I had into the Elder Wand.

"PROTEGO DRACONIS!" I nearly screamed, my will flooding the Elder Wand with power. A brilliant shield of blazing white magic radiated from it, brighter than starlight. Heat washed over me, unbearably hot, and flash-boiling the snow beneath my boots. The lenses of my glasses seemed to distort and melt as dragonfire washed over my shield, but I persisted.

"PROTEGO DRACONIS!" I repeated, throwing more of my magic into the improvised Shield. My arms felt ready to fall off from the strain of the magic I was forcing through them, and my knuckles ached from clutching my Wand too tightly. I thought I would liquefy in the heat, even though the Shield reflected most of it – and abruptly, the dragon screamed in agony.

An arrow the size of a small car was embedded deep in the dragon's gut, and blood – red blood – bubbled out of the wound, hissing and boiling. A siege weapon I couldn't recall the name of was mounted on a tower along Vindhelm's outer wall, blue-uniformed soldiers already working to reload.

The dragon fire halted, and I let my Shield drop. Anger took ahold of me. People had died meaningless deaths, not for ideology, not for a better future, nor for any other reason than the dragon's will to dominate and destroy. My heart pumped liquid fury through my veins, and I knew that something had to be done – and that I was the one to do it.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" Professor Snape's signature spell immediately came to mind, and I roared the incantation. The Elder Wand eagerly complied, and a wave of pure, invisible magic visible only as a distortion in the air rippled from its tip.

Moments later, one of the dragon's wings was sliced clean off at the joint, and it screamed again, this time a horrible, terrified sound. Its magic failed without a wing to keep it aloft, and the dragon plummeted to the ground.

I wasn't done with it yet.

"Accio." I forced magic through the Wand, and yanked the falling dragon it from its trajectory. It yelped, and crashed into the town square in a heap of scaly skin and bones. Blood dribbled from its wounds, boiling and bubbling as it pooled on cobblestone, but I couldn't bring myself to feel mercy for this creature. I felt pity for it, certainly – but I couldn't afford to let that affect me.

Fighting the Horcrux taught me that.

The dragon opened its eyes – fearsome, slitted, and utterly alien to my own.

"I am DWIIN'AHJOT. I would have words." The dragon spoke – and I understood. Wuunferth seemed to understand as well, as shell-shocked as he looked. The dragon spoke directly into our minds, its mouth unmoving as it talked, and though it used strange vocabulary, I understood its speech as English.

"You have bested me, wizard. MAHMUL is your strength; NOROK SULEYK name it." Dwiinahjot weakly growled.

"DOVZEYMAH! I will soon join you, my brothers!" It gurgled blood, and then looked me straight in the eye. "The DOVAH answer SOTQOSTRUN, JUL-yet-NI-JUL, JUN-yet-NI-JUN. Be you ALSAVIIK?"

I didn't have an answer. A few moments later, Dwiin'ahjot fell silent.

I still didn't have an answer, minutes later, when life finally left the dragon's body and its corpse was consumed by flames that seemed to rise into the heavens.

To be continued...

Next Chapter...

I sloshed about the streets of Vindhelm with heavy feet. Dwiin'ahjot's flames had thawed much of the snow in the town square, and the newly melted snow flowed along the streets like small rivers. There were bodies, and charred parts of bodies to be found all around the square, and it was all I could do not to feel sick at the carnage.

Many Dunmer who had been slinking along in the background before the dragon attack were now rushing towards the eastern blocks of the city, where entire buildings were still on fire. Seeing their faces made me realize that I couldn't let myself rest yet.

There was still work to be done.