The Train in the Valley

"You've been quiet lately," Loboda said softly, his arm brushing mine as we followed the train of people through the valley. The snowshoes he had affixed to my boots took some getting used to. After nearly a week of wearing them, I had become almost used to the odd way I needed to lift my legs and feet in order not to trip. I held no hope for my ability to run in them though.

"Just a lot on my mind," I replied, hand flexing on the rope attached to Chudley's halter. I really would rather be riding, but that would have been unfair to the small horse. Chudley was already pulling a sled loaded with all the things I had collected on my journey from the cave, and all of Loboda's essentials as well. Casting a quick featherlight did help, but I already had quite a talking too from Alfhild regarding the saddle.

Early in our trip, I had saddled Chudley before attaching the sled – and then reattaching it as apparently I did it wrong the first time – and had planned to ride the beast for the duration of our journey. Even after explaining that the featherlight charm would keep from taxing the horse, Alfhild's frown did not fade. It deepened when I went on about how the charm worked, and then she spent a long while explaining to me about how removing all the weight of the sled could cause problems such as tipping if the horse moved too quickly.

She went on, giving one reason and then another on why I shouldn't be using my magic on such things – including the fact that I was still recovering – and ending with how it looked to the other villagers who didn't know what I had done…so here I was, walking. At least I wasn't the only one.

The Thenns did not have very many horses, or at least it didn't seem that way when you compared it to the amount of people. In reality, they had upwards of perhaps six hundred mounts and aside for the few given to the scouts for use, every single one of them was pulling a sled of some sort. I had even seen a few teams of sleds, multiple horses tied together to pull heavier equipment…no doubt one of those was the massive tent that Styr had the servants build for him every night.

"Does this have anything to do with the new Magnar?" Loboda asked. The trees creaked in the light breeze, casting small flurries of loose snow from their limbs to shower over us with every gust. It wasn't cold enough for my hood – inlaid as it was with heating and protection charms – but I still had it up, just to stop the snow from melting in my hair. Maybe that was why so many of the Thenns chose to shave their heads bald…

"A little," I answered him as honestly as I could without revealing too much. The truth was that the thought of Styr as the new Magnar was only a blip at the back of my mind. Styr wasn't the Magnar that was keeping me awake at night.

Loboda shook the top of his great fur cloak, shaking the loose snow from it as our snowshoes crunched into the new powder. The cloak his son had gifted me was wrapped tight around the young girl who trailed us. It had been doubled up, folded along the top, and tied in place…and yet it still trailed in the snow after the girl. One of her pale hands was on the leather attaching the sled to Chudley's side, her face turned down as she took careful steps in the loose snow. Loboda liked her addition to our party even less than I did, but he thankfully said nothing.

Our snowshoes packed down the powder, creaking with every step. Loboda had assured me that once we left the trees that the teams of sleds would take the lead, pressing down the snow for the rest of us to walk on, and then we could remove the cumbersome attachments to our boots. He also informed me it would take at least another moon before that would happen.

The valley was much larger than I had thought, but what was genuinely surprising was just how quickly a group of around ten thousand people with animals and sleds could move. Once the sun hit the treetops, everyone would stop and move to set up their own camp site. Songs would fill the night air with the smell of cooked meat, drink would flow between one camp and the next, and small fires would shine between the trees. Before the sky began to even hint at day, the camp would be packed up and the train of Thenns ready to move.

They were an efficient lot; I gave them that.

"Do you want to speak of it?" He asked as groups began to break off for the night and I led Chudley off the main path as Loboda found a small break in the trees and we started to set up our own camp. The young girl, Ida, looped Chudley's rope around a low hanging branch and started to check his hooves for small stones. I left her to it, relieved that though she wasn't exactly wanted, she was still finding tasks for herself. It left my chest feeling tight every time she looked at me with eyes pleading for instructions.

I hated telling her what to do, like I was her master…but after a few days, she started to pick up a sort of routine. First, she would see to Chudley as Loboda and I unloaded the essentials and set up camp. Then she would assist in other small ways, collecting snow for water or wood for fire. Once we got settled, she would help with food and after she would clean up. I stopped trying to help after the first few times. She was a bit like a house elf in that sort of way. Trying to assist only seemed to cause her distress, so I would let her take my bowl and only frowned when she couldn't see.

Loboda grunted a noise at me, and I pulled my eyes away from Ida. He was still waiting for an answer, and I felt heat along my neck and cheeks when I realized I had forgotten his question. "Do you want to speak of it?" He asked again.

"No," I replied quickly, gathering dead branches and rocks to make a fire pit. Ida had started to collect dried leaves for kindling, and I took them with a small appreciative nod as I set the wood into a pyramid for better airflow just as Loboda had shown me, tucking the dried bits underneath. "Not really," I amended after a moment when he continued to stare at me. "Maybe later."

The words were an obvious lie, but Loboda only nodded and began to unhitch the sled from the portly horse as I got the fire started. I was only able to do small spells now, nothing too taxing on my still recovering core. But even with the ability to cast a simple fire charm, I refused. Part of me did it the muggle way because I was still hesitant to cast magic with so many eyes watching, the other part found it deeply satisfying to build a fire from my bare hands. And I was getting quite good at it if I do say so myself.

Breathing gently on the tiny flames, I straightened with a smile as the dried leaves caught fully. The rocks were placed carefully around the wood, and two large branches were forced deep into the ground on either side with another sturdy branch resting between them above the flames. Loboda had just hooked the pot full of snow onto it when our little campsite was suddenly invaded.

Alfhild and Aslaug came trudging to our fire, the older girl looking wet and miserable. Behind them came seven horses with Ragna leading them. She was an older woman with deep scarring not caused by the Thenns ritual and missing two fingers on her left hand. She was also Alfhild and Aslaug's mother. Before we had left the village, I had seen her perhaps only a few times, as she was always busy with the horses. It was from Ragna's own mare that Chudley was born from, and the woman had forgotten more about horses than I could ever hope to learn.

Most Thenns did not own their own horse, though many had preferences. The majority of the horses were 'owned' by the Magnar and taken care of by the hethús. It was a well-known fact that the best hethús in the village was Ragna. She had come from a long line of horse breeders and had been stolen from the Nightrunner Clan during a raiding.

Although she was taken to be Ólafur's wife, she had not seemed unhappy with the man, nor in the children that they had had together. The culture of the Thenns – and as I was learning, the culture of all Free Folk – was something I didn't think I would ever get fully used too.

Ragna was so knowledgeable about horses, that the previous Magnar – the one from before my time with the Thenns – had gifted her a dozen horses of her own with the promise that she would stay with their clan and not attempt to escape. Chudley was perhaps her greatest failure. She had been trying to breed a great warhorse, as her father had been known to do. A horse that would be fearless in battle and loyal to their rider. A horse that would be eager to please and quick to respond.

Instead, she ended up breeding the laziest horse with the heart of a lion. She had had a hard time training him, and an even harder time trying to get him to respond to any command. In the end, she decided it would make an appropriate gift for the strange outsider that had saved her husband's life. I wasn't certain if she was actually showing gratitude by giving me a horse to own, as most Thenns never had that honor, or if she was just trying to get rid of a nuisance. Either way, it didn't matter, as Chudley was perhaps the best thing to ever be gifted to me. Aside from Hedwig when I was eleven.

The thought of the snowy white owl still left an ache in my chest, and I missed her something fierce. But it did no good to dwell on such memories, not when there wasn't anything I could do for it. Instead, I forced the melancholy thoughts away by strength of will and the many lessons of occlumency and chose to be here in the moment instead.

Aside from the one gift, I got the impression that Ragna didn't like me very much. But she tolerated me and my dragons, so I didn't press the issue. The woman didn't have to like me, she just had to try not to kill me. A trait I was really beginning to appreciate in others…the whole not trying to kill me thing.

"What happened to you?" I asked Alfhild cautiously as she sat herself close to the fire, wet furs making her look like a waterlogged yeti. Her brows were furrowed, eyes hard as ice, and lips pressed into a thin line. She looked ready to take her father's massive axe that was strapped to her back and cut someone into two with it.

Aslaug smiled slyly as she handed me one of the rabbits hanging from a rope. I was still learning how to properly set a snare and promised myself to ask Aslaug about it later. She was clearly better at it than Loboda. I had only ever seen him catch two rabbits at most in the same day. Aslaug had four. I automatically started to skin it as Ragna finished tying the horses loosely to a few trees, giving them enough rope to graze but not enough to wander, and took another of the rabbits before she joined us.

Ida reached for the last dead rabbit cautiously, not looking up from the ground as she took her small blade and began to ready it for cooking. I tried not to frown at her and had to suppress my anger as she shifted carefully so as not to reopen the wounds on her back. Without magic, I couldn't do much for her discomfort, but every night, I would have the brown-haired girl of maybe eight lay on one of my furs and treat her wounds with a salve that Aslaug had smuggled to me.

Severus had been curious about the thick paste, sniffing and flicking his tongue at it as I scooped it up into my fingers. I had had to promise to ask Aslaug about what was in it to get him to stop poking at me long enough to treat Ida's wounds. After Aslaug had broken down the ingredients and how it was made, Severus had scoffed in derision, telling me that he could have done a much better job of it with his cauldron, saying something about stirring directions and flame temperature that I didn't bother to repeat to the girl.

Instead, I thanked Aslaug for her assistance, and had Loboda show me which plants to gather so Severus could talk me into remaking the poultice into something better. It was a hassle, but Ida had sighed in relief the next night when I had used the new concoction on her back. It really wasn't her fault, what had happened. She hadn't known that she was complicit in my attempted murder…but all the same she had been punished quite severely for it.

"One of the yearlings was startled by a warg's wolf and took off," Alfhild said with a disgusted grunt, her pale hands shaking slightly as she pried her wet gloves off and started to dry them over the flames. "Got himself stuck in the river, I had to go in after him."

Aslaug turned her face and let her unbound hair shield the smile pulling at her lips. I bit my cheek to keep myself from joining her. Wargs were still a topic of confusion to me, as my understanding of the Old Tongue didn't seem to have the proper words for a full description. The most I was able to glean from Loboda's explanation, was that it was people possessing some form of passive magic that connected them to an animal…like a witch's familiar, but not.

Alfhild was struggling with her outer furs, fingers fighting with the rapidly freezing material as she pulled and yanked at it to get it loose enough to slip off. "Do you want me to help?" I asked, waving my fingers at her and ignoring Ragna's quiet scoff and not so subtle glare.

"No," Alfhild replied, shaking her head lightly. "I will be dry soon enough; the water didn't penetrate my furs and you are still recovering."

I smiled at her gratefully, trying not to notice the way Ragna's lips pinched together and her blue eyes bore into the marks painted upon my face. I wasn't certain if she hated my magic, me, or the thought that an outsider was gifted with marks that she had been denied despite the fact that she had been married to a Thenn and bore him two strong Thenn daughters. Perhaps it was all three.

The pot was boiling by the time we finished with the rabbits and got started on the root vegetables that had been foraged during our journey. Not long after that, the whelps started to land around us, startling the dozing horses – except for Chudley – and kicking up snow around our nice little campsite.

Ragna sent me another glare as she had to start over with the tent she and her girls shared, and I couldn't stop myself from glaring back. "Ignore her," Aslaug said softly as she spooned the stew into bowls and handed them out. "She is still grieving and doesn't know who to be angry with."

It was understandable, but still annoying to deal with. Instead of processing her grief, she was trying to lay the blame on someone else. Aslaug had told me about how their mother had slapped Alfhild hard when she learned of Ólafur's death, and then struck her again when Alfhild hadn't done anything to stop her. Aslaug had to pull a distraught Ragna off of her own daughter as Alfhild refused to fight back.

Once some of the anguish and rage had burned out, Ragna apologized to Alfhild and shifted her blame on to others instead. I was just in the long line of people that Ragna had casted her anger upon and tried my hardest not to take it personally. Severus' tail tightened around my neck and I flipped my hood off to let the cold air wake him.

The small dragon was grumbling something along the lines of my parentage as Canute and his family entered our clearing. As an Elder of the clan, Loboda was near the front of the train, and I with him as his ward. Ragna and her daughters somewhere not far behind, but Canute and his family were several miles back near the end of the caravan. They were always the last into our camp, but they also didn't have to wake quite as early as the rest of us. Instead, our part of the camp would be packed up and I would be joining Loboda near the front of the long line of people as Canute got his brothers fed and their parents started to break down their tent.

Canute sent me a small smile as his two younger brothers, Tarr and Vani, ran straight for the fire, chatting excitedly as Ida got clean bowls and began to dish out servings for the family. Canute's face was still healing from his new markings, hair shaven and bare head newly carved. The lines wrapped around the back of his head, across his cheeks, and down his chin. They looked painful, but he hardly seemed to notice, far too proud to be so young when marked.

Everyone who had been bare faced but still fought in the Battle of the Weeping Lake had received their marks, no matter how young. I had seen a boy younger than a first year proudly displaying his deeply cut face to the other children and learned later it was because he had killed one of the dead that had attacked the village. The thought made my stomach twist in a decidedly unpleasant way.

Canute dropped down next to me, sitting so close I could feel the heat of him along my side, and I sent him a smile as Ida placed a bowl in his hands and took the one from mine. He sent a rakish smile back, the corner of his lips tilting up as he let his eyes flit over my form. I couldn't tell if he was checking for injuries, or just checking me out in general. Either way, I turned to hide my suddenly heated face and forced myself not to shift as Severus came fully awake.

The two had gotten over that disastrous incident in the upper valley that had nearly took Canute's life, but they still didn't get along. Instead, whenever they were in close proximity, boy – man now, really – and dragon pretended the other didn't exist.

"How far south do you think we will get before the deep snow sets in?" I asked, recalling a conversation I had overheard from another Elder describing snow drifts forty feet deep. The thought made my stomach drop and hands become clammy.

Canute waved away my concern with one hand while he brought the bowl up to his mouth with the other and started to slurp the thick stew. "We should be fine," he said after wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Autumn should last a few more years yet. Summer was ten, after all. It's the autumn storms we need to be worried about, especially if Mance tries to cross the wall by way of the sea."

There was that name again, Mance. I had heard him mentioned since the first day when we were leaving the village. Loboda had even commented about meeting up with him somewhere called the Milkwater or Skirling Pass.

He was a king of some sort, not born but chosen by his people. He had been collecting other clans together, for longer than I had been alive, trying to get them south of a wall. The way Canute and the others described this wall sounded almost like the way Hagrid had described Hogwarts to me for the first time. To me, a girl of eleven, who had never seen a castle, nor been outside of Surrey aside from a few instances, could only imagine towers so tall they touched the clouds, a great hall that would seat thousands, floating candles in every window, and doorways that led to magical lands.

Hogwarts was but a fantasy, a magical castle that surely wasn't real. And then I saw it. Perched at the tip of a little boat, sailing across black waters so dark I could see my reflection, and in the distance, a castle so mighty and grand that all I could think was that this couldn't be where I was meant to go. Surely, they got the wrong girl. This amazing and magical place couldn't be meant for me.

Canute described the wall as it had been told to him. Hundreds of feet high, touching the clouds so you couldn't even see the top. So thick you could carve for generations but never dig a hole to the other side. Stretching on forever in either direction, from coast to coast. During the summer, the wall would weep, and the sun would shine off of it, looking like a thousand tiny tears.

He feared the wall and what it represented, but he was in awe of it too. All of the Thenns were. They spoke with a hushed reverence when describing it. Some of the Thenns even claimed to having had climbed it, raiding the greener lands and weaker people on the other side, but I wasn't certain if I believed them. If the wall were as high as they all claimed, then surely it couldn't be scaled…could it?

"How long do you think this Autumn will last?" I asked, bringing my hand to up to tickle along Severus' chest, switching to the base of his horns when he bumped my fingers with his head.

Canute shrugged as he finished off the last of his stew. "Maybe four or five more years, but that is a question for the Seer." I didn't want to ask the Seer, and something of that must have shown on my face as Canute gave me another one of his side smiles with a tilt of his shoulder. Nobody liked talking to the Seer, and nobody ever liked what they were told either. At least in that, I wasn't alone.

"Years," I said so quietly I really only breathed the word. How could season last years? Not even Severus knew, or wanted to speculate. We already knew that this wasn't our world, but I hadn't realized what that had truly meant until recently. It never occurred to me that basic concepts such as seasons would be altered drastically. Years…

Canute stood, handed his bowl off to Ida as if having a girl the same age as his brothers serving him was just a simple fact of life, and reached down to pat my shoulder. His hand paused there as I felt Severus shift, no doubt glaring at the young man, and Canute chose instead to just shake his head, nod to me once, and then trudged off to help his mother set up their tent.

The two boys were now wrestling with each other near the horses and Ragna chased them off when they got too close. They both eyed the dragons that were lounging around on the snow, mischievous little smiles on their lips as they started to approach one, and I stood immediately when I realized it was Loki. The bronze would probably not kill them, but he would have definitely maimed the two children if they were going to do what I think they were.

Loki was bigger than both of them, certainly big enough for them to attempt to ride, and I knew that that could only end in disaster.

Severus pulled himself off my shoulder as I approached the two unruly kids and told them firmly to leave the dragons alone. They slinked off properly chastised to their parents as the tent was finally finished, and I turned to see Severus perch himself on the stick over the firepit that was holding the stew pot, no doubt enjoying the heat. He was yawning widely, rows of tiny little sharp teeth on display as he shook himself fully awake.

He had taken to dozing off during the day, using my hood to shield his eyes from the bright sun glaring off the white snow. The pocket of heat he created against the back of my neck was almost too warm, but I refused to complain. After all, his day sleeping allowed him to keep watch at night, and it was desperately needed.

Twice since the Thenns had finally abandoned their village, someone had attempted to take my life. Both times during the darkest part of night when everyone was tired from the journey and all but comatose around their campfires and in their tents. I tried to wait until most everyone else was asleep or too deep into their cups before I set up my tent with a small flick of the wand. The whelps would crowd inside soon after, climbing over each other to get comfortable and I would send myself another mental memo to ask Severus about increasing the space inside once again as it was really getting too small…when my magic had fully recovered that was.

The first attack came right after I had nodded off on my cot, pressed between the seal furred wall and Gemini's heat along my back. The sound of someone gasping woke not only me but the other dragons. The man that stood at the entrance had been stunned by what I assumed was either the size of the inside of the tent compared to the outside, or by all of the dragons loitering upon rugs and fur that were placed over wood flooring.

He had tried to make a lunge at me but was thwarted when he tripped over Solar's form. The grey dragon snapped at him, the others rising and hissing, heads low and flight fins raised. The man wisely chose to retreat.

He stumbled outside, dagger in his hand as I had stood from my cot and the dragons rushed outside after him. The attempted murderer never made it further than the edge of our camp as Ophelia had let out a shriek loud enough to wake the others and latched her teeth around the man's leg. Her maw enclosed completely around his calf and she shook her head nearly hard enough to tear the limb off. Loboda had just thrown on a cloak and was reaching for his weapon when the would-be killer was ingulfed in flames so hot they burned right through him, cutting his screams off before they could truly get started.

Seconds later, nothing remained but ash, charred bones, and the small blade that had fallen from his hand when Ophelia had bitten him. Loki landed from where he had been hovering above, the gust from his wings casting the ash into the night air and roared triumphantly.

Though the commotion had drawn a lot of attention, no one contested Loboda's claim about the man deserving his sudden and violent end. As it turned out, in Thenn culture, it wasn't uncommon for disputes to arise between clan members, and for those disputes to end in death. The proper course of action, should that happen, was to declare yourself to the nearest villager and have an Elder summoned. Then that Elder would deem your killing of another person justified – in which case nothing happened – and everyone went back to their lives, or not justified. If the death of another wasn't deserving, the perpetrator would share their fate…slowly.

For an unjust murder, the accused would be tied to a post and the family and friends of the deceased would take their turns cutting them. Few survived long enough to have faced the entire line of the aggrieved. If they did then their gods would see them forgiven and the Magnar would end their suffering with one clean slice so they could feast with their gods in the halls of the afterlife. It was called dauthan met thús nithskurthi…death by a thousand cuts. I had only seen it performed once, and the woman's muffled screaming had followed me all the way back to Loboda's cabin and into my dreams.

I wouldn't exactly call what the Thenns had as a court of justice, but it was more than what I had expected. They may have been primitive, but they weren't wholly uncivilized.

The second attempt on my life was much more subtle. That particular day of travel had been truly hellish as a storm had hit out of nowhere just a little after high noon. Canute called it one of the Autumn storms that were common during the season. The only thing I could think was that I had never seen a storm rage so angrily before. It was like a living thing, pulsing and furious as it tried to pull trees from their roots and drown those who hadn't found shelter.

The wind was hard enough to sway even the oldest of trees and the rain poured from the sky in a deluge, drenching through the thickest of furs within minutes. The train had come to a quick and sudden halt as people rushed to get tents pitched before the storm became worse. Individual campsites were a thing for better weather, as everyone set up their tents as close to each other as they could get. Several fires were built, but only a few were able to catch.

I had huddled around a large bonfire started by my dragons with nearly forty other miserable people. It was quiet aside from the rain drumming at the massive leather roof propped over the fire as wind chilled everyone to the bone, no walls to stop its bite. Dinner was a hurried affair as servants and children rushed between fires to get everyone fed. Normally, every camp would cook their own, but with the storm, it became a communal meal once more.

It took a long time to feed that many people, and by the time a young girl – perhaps half my age – handed me a plate with meat, vegetables, bread, and berries smothered in some sort of sauce, it was far into the night. I ate so quickly that I hardly even tasted it. It was only once I was cleaning my plate with a piece of bread when I felt my tongue and lips go numb.

I had panicked as soon I had difficulty breathing, and it was only Severus quick thinking that saved my life as the people around us began to shout. Loboda had gripped my arm as Severus guided me on how to purge my stomach the muggle way, as I was quite incapable of learning a new spell when I couldn't breathe. A finger down the throat worked just as well to expel the worst of it, and then a few quick spells took care of the rest.

After Loboda had seated me carefully on the ground to catch my breath, he had picked up my discarded plate and ran a finger across the juice that still remained and then stuck it into his mouth. Not even a second had passed before he was spitting it back out and claiming I had been fed nightberries.

Someone had taken advantage of my ignorance of these lands and had me served an extremely poisonous berry that looked so similar to blackberries that I hadn't even noticed the difference.

The servant girl that had given me my food was seized almost brutally and questioned much more harshly than I was comfortable with. She hadn't known what she was giving me, only that she had been asked to serve that particular plate to the Witch of Winter. The three men and four women involved in my second attempted murder, were swiftly and violently dealt with.

Their screams as they burned did not follow me into my dreams, but Severus' smug expression and rumbling purr of satisfaction did. It would have been a faster death if it had been dragon fire, but the new Magnar had insisted on pyres being built, tying each person to their pole himself, before turning to me with the torch. Loboda had nudged my back, telling me it was my right as the victim, but I had only shaken my head and tried to count my breaths as Styr grinned at me. His eyes had latched onto mine, blue unwavering as he leant down and lit the first pyre on fire. By the time he had gotten to the last, my stomach was threatening to rebel in a completely different manner.

Ida had been gifted to me as punishment after her previous mistress had had her flogged for such an act. I had protested to both the flogging and the gifting, but in the end, I was forced to settle for both. The girl had been stolen from one of the frozen shore clans when she was very little and had no protection that being born a Thenn would have granted her. I had no say in how her mistress treated her. And refusing to accept her as a gift would only end in her death.

So now, I found myself owning someone. I had immediately tried freeing her, but like a house elf, she had absolutely wailed at the thought, thinking I was trying to give her away to another. Ragna was the one who had to sit me down and explain Ida's position, despite her discomfort and obvious dislike of me. She and Ida were not born Thenn, and instead having been captured – they called it stolen – she couldn't be free unless one of the men took her as a wife, as Ragna was.

Ida was only maybe eight years old, too young to bride, but some men would only see a free slave for the taking. They would not treat her as kindly as I, and though I was loathed to do so, I found no other way but to accept her as mine. But, I vowed to myself, the moment I was able to do so safely, Ida would be freed to live her life as she chose. When it was safe to do so…

The clan Ida came from would not take her back as she now belonged to the Thenns. She wasn't a clan member anymore; she was hardly even a person. Freeing her now would only endanger her more as it left her open for someone much more insidious to claim her. Ida truly had nowhere else to go, so Severus and I reluctantly agreed to look after for her.

I owned her – a technicality on the Thenns side – but I didn't treat her as if she were owned. Instead, I tried to treat her like Hermione treated me, like I treated Ginny. I treated her like a little sister.

Ida was slowly starting to come out of her shell, but she was an incredibly quiet and submissive child. The scars on her back informed me as to why that was, and my fury at seeing them was enough to even set Severus off when I couldn't get a hold of it. His shriek of anger only echoed my utter wrath at her scarred body, but her fear halted me from taking action. I couldn't go after her previous mistress. It just wasn't a done thing. And at the moment, Ida didn't fear her previous mistress…she feared me.

She really was a sweet thing, if softly spoken, and after she got used to the dragons coming and going from my tent – another thing she had to get familiar with – she came to genuinely enjoy them as well. Gemini and Ophelia were her favorites, though she wouldn't tell me why. She hardly spoke at all, and only if spoken directly too. It only took a little while to figure it out on my own though, with the way she would look at Gemini's milky eye and scarred neck, Ophelia's torn and crippled wing. The way she would sometimes touch one of her more deeply set scars when she thought no one was looking.

She thought that they were broken, like her. I was still trying to get her to realize that she wasn't broken, and neither were Ophelia and Gemini. It was slow going. I had an easier time explaining the concept of protecting the caravan to Loki than I did trying to tell Ida that there was nothing wrong with her. Loki was still stuck on the caravan part. He understood protecting the other whelps, he even understood protecting Chudley and our things.

I had thought that there would be a hang up in trying to get him to protect me and Severus, now that he had entered his rebellious stage…but he had taken a great deal of pleasure out of defending me from the first would-be assassin, so that wasn't the problem. No, the problem was trying to get him to extend that protection to other people.

All attempts on my life ended after the second one, but the reason behind it stayed. Severus had shaken his head in bewilderment as Loboda explained that everyone thought that my power was transferable. They actually believed that if they killed me, the perpetrators would not only take my magic, but also the 'control' I had over the dragons.

It was utter nonsense, but the only way to make them stop was to make those that would attempt to kill me far too scared to ever try again. Loki turning one to ash and the others being burned at the stake went towards that, and for now, it seemed to be working. Severus had also had me make a ring. My magic was to be used sparingly and only when needed, but he had affirmed that this was definitely something that was needed.

We had passed several of the white trees with the faces in them during our journey. The Thenns called them godtrees, and said that the faces that were carved into them were put there by the children – I don't think they mean the word in the way that I knew it – so that their gods could look out and observe the world of the living. Several ceremonies were held in front of these trees, as we made our way ever southward. One looked to be a wedding, though I used the term loosely as it was like no wedding I had ever heard of before. But the man and woman did say vow like things and kiss each other, and there had been a feast afterwards, so I was calling it a wedding.

I had stopped next to one of these trees as people came and went, leaving offerings between the roots as they passed. The face looked back at me, and within I could swear there was someone else, looking right at me as well, but Loboda interrupted before I could decide on what I was going to do about it.

Was I seriously thinking about using legilimens on a tree?

"You shouldn't linger," Loboda said, resting his much larger hand on my shoulder. "These are not your gods, yours might not approve."

Thenns took their gods very seriously, but they recognized that not everyone had the same gods. They knew I came from somewhere else, somewhere extremely far away, but they never really asked me about it. What they did know, was that their gods weren't my gods. Loboda never pressured me to convert, it wasn't the way of the Free Folk. No, you were born to your own gods, and those that pulled from them to another's was something to be despised. If I had converted, I think Loboda would have actually thrown me out.

The thought tugged a smile at my lips, but I never bothered to explain my lack of belief in any gods.

"I doubt my gods would care much," I replied, glancing up at him. His blue eyes met mine, and I felt relief as he met them steadily. When I first moved in with him, Loboda had had difficulty maintaining eye contact with me. No doubt caused by my odd eye colors. Now, it hardly seemed to faze him much.

"Not even this…Merlin of yours?" He asked, sounding the word out awkwardly.

"No," I said with a laugh, shaking my head. "Merlin wouldn't mind. He knows I will always stay faithful." I could have explained to Loboda that Merlin wasn't a god, but some things were sometimes easier left unsaid. Trying to make a man without magic understand that the once greatest wizard in all of the world was only human was not a discussion I felt like I could tackle with my limited language skills. No, it was easier to let him believe Merlin was a god…and who knew, maybe he was.

It was believable at least, with the story of his power and ability. What was if he not a god? He was venerated as one by my culture, at least. Like Jesus Christ. Both weren't gods, but only just. According to our lore, they might have well had been.

Loboda only grunted in acknowledgement and let me continue to stare at the tree. "Don't take too long," he said, turning to resume his spot in the long train as people came and went, leaving small tokens and offerings to the white tree.

Severus had woken as I was about to leave the tree, using the opportunity to launch himself from my shoulder and into the branches above. I darted my eyes around to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone was going about their own tasks with tired movements. It was nearing the end of the day and soon I knew, the whole caravan would come to a halt and campfires would start to light the forest.

Moments later, Severus' weight returned to my shoulder, and I flipped my hood up around him before walking quickly to catch up with Loboda, Chudley, and Ida. I still didn't trust myself to run in the snowshoes. Against my neck, I felt something hard and sharp poke at me. It was only once we were settled in our tent for the night did I pull open the hood and find the stick that Severus had left inside.

It was rather large and very straight. I had hoped he was going to get one that had already separated from the tree, but I could see by the broken end that was bleeding that same red sap that he had snapped it off instead. Sighing in both relief and annoyance, I let Severus' voice wash over me as he instructed me through the necessary spells.

It took nearly a fortnight to complete the full process, as I was still using my magic sparingly. In the end though, I was quite satisfied with the result. Sliding the ring over my left ring finger, I waved my wand over it to resize and smiled brightly as it settled fully into place. It was white with red lacings that ran along its surface in a nonsymmetrical loop. Smooth and lacquered shiny with spells, it looked more like metal than it did wood.

A few days later we tested its effectiveness. Loboda had been teaching me how to forage for food, set traps for small animals, and use a bow to take down heavier game. He had also been showing me the plants that could be used in healing and others that could be used to kill. A nightberry bush was just off to the side of our camp that night, Ragna making certain that the horses were secured far enough away that they couldn't accidentally get loose and eat any.

When I approached the bush, berries thick and ripe hanging heavy beneath the leaves, the ring became hot, the red lacings pulsing until it consumed the entire ring. Only once I was back by the fire did the ring turn back to white. The smug smile pulled at my lips for the rest of the night, and I only shook my head when the others asked about it. Severus didn't want me to speak of what I had done, urging me to caution.

"Sometimes," he said, whispering the words in my ear as I rolled the warm cup of tea between my palms. "Sometimes, it is best to choose the Slytherin route. You trust them, the foolish Gryffindor that you are. Fine, then trust them. But do you trust who they would speak too? Do you trust that they wouldn't mention it in passing during a conversation? Do you trust that those words won't reach the ones that want you dead?"

He was right…I hated that he was right. But damn him, I couldn't risk it. So instead, I only smiled and shook my head when the others asked. I waved aside any questions about my new accessory, passing it off as a keepsake and ignoring Loboda's frown when he asked where I had gotten the ring. It looked like metal enough that he couldn't prove it came from one of the godtrees, but he suspected. Loboda never outright asked, so I never alluded to it. That was our relationship in a nutshell. Loboda suspecting many things but never asking. Me knowing he knew, but never confirming.

My thumb twirled the ring around and around in a comforting gesture, and I took solace in the fact that I would never be caught off guard like that ever again.

The rest of the wood was tucked deep within the extra serpent hides, hidden from sight until my magic had recovered fully and I had enough privacy for what I meant to do with it. The broken holly wand and phoenix feather lay next to it.

We were nearly out of the valley when our massive caravan was added too…by giants of all things. I stared so hard I thought my eyes were going to fall from their sockets. They were much bigger than Hagrid, and some rode on the backs of mammoths.

The giants of this world looked nothing like the giants of my world. They were smaller for one. The tallest perhaps three times my size. Their faces were flat and wrinkled, noses large compared to their eyes. At first, I thought they were all men as they all had facial hair, but then I saw one of these 'men giants' nursing a baby that was almost as large as me. It was then that I realized that even the women were bearded.

They were also heavily furred, and not in the way that the Thenns were. The giants wore their own clothing, but beneath that, I had seen that they were covered in fur as well…like a yeti or sasquatch.

They didn't like my staring, turning to me with twisted faces and snorting hot air as they glared at me. I soon learned to watch them from the corner of my eye instead. They also spoke, though I was ashamed of myself when I was surprised by this. Of course they spoke, they were obviously smart enough to make clothing and tools.

They held weapons, not just clubs, but bows and spears as well. At night, the giants pitched their own tents for their children. The sleds their mammoths dragged were absolutely massive, made out of what looked like bone, and shaped very differently than the ones the Thenns used.

I hadn't had the chance to talk to one yet, but from the conversations I had overheard, they spoke the Old Tongue, if not a little slowly. They also didn't eat meat and treated their mammoths like they were sacred. I tried to approach one…once. Only Loboda's quick apologies and explanations stopped the near fourteen-foot-tall male from pummeling me into the snow with his club.

They also did not like my dragons. And I mean, at all. It took a lot of convincing to get my dragons to avoid them, especially after Gemini realized that he could probably ride a mammoth and had made an attempt to do just that. He had been successful for all of a few seconds before he was forced to flee as another giant tried to yank him off. Gemini had flown back, wailing a shrill sound, and huddling against my side as the giants followed him to our camp.

That also ended with Loboda talking our way out of the giants tearing the poor dragon to pieces, while I tried to keep Loki and Romulus from roasting said giants. Gemini had been morose for days, lounging on Chudley's back even though he really was getting much too big for it, and looking forlornly at the shaggy beasts that trailed alongside us.

Loki's hatred of the mammoths and the giants were the only thing keeping the other dragons in line. He had already wrestled Solar and Hera into compliance when they tried to get near them. I had sent him small glares as I patched the two dragons up after their tussle with the foul tempered bronze, but I also snuck Loki extra bits of the best cooked meat when no one was looking. I may not have liked how viciously he enforced his order over the others, but I would have liked it far less if any of the dragons were killed because they had become too curious.

One of the giants, younger than most but still an adult, would sometimes watch me. His hair dark brown, long, and combed back. When the dragons would fly low, he would stare at them too. I thought he was more curious than anything, so I had made several attempts to approach him, but he either darted off before I got too close, or something would interrupt me and by the time I looked back he would be gone.

Loboda kept encouraging me to keep my distance, Severus' rather demeaning agreement whispered in my ear. I ignored both of them, and one day, I was finally successful in my endeavor.

New snow had been falling for days, slowing the caravan down to a painfully creeping shuffle as horses and people alike became stuck in the fresh powder that was several feet deep. The giants had taken to using their mammoths to clear a path, heavy sleds packing the snow down further. The younger ones were left behind and I snuck off with a wink to Ida and a finger to my lips to keep her silence when Loboda got into a discussion with Elder Einar regarding how they were going to break apart groups and integrate them into Mance's camp once we caught up with them.

The curious giant was walking alone between ancient trees that were so wide not even he could wrap his arms around them. He saw me approach, and hesitated, his large legs halting in the loose snow as he blinked slowly at me. I approached cautiously, stopping well away from the distance of his spear…which wouldn't work if he decided to throw it.

"Hello," I said, calling out to him and giving a little wave with my hand. Severus' hot breath tickled my ear as he huffed in his sleep and I prayed he would stay that way. The last thing I needed was his derisive commentary in the background. "I'm Harielle, who are you?"

The giant blinked at me, a slow exaggerated movement as he looked around the trees. I couldn't tell if he was looking for people to help him, or to make certain we were alone, but he didn't seem to be running away, which was a first.

"Hello," I said again, shuffling a little closer. "Harielle," I patted my chest and smiled when he tilted his head, long brown hair cascading over one of his fur covered shoulders. "Harielle," I repeated, tapping my chest again.

"Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun," he replied with a deep booming voice.

"Huh?" I wondered if my understanding of the Old Tongue wasn't advanced enough for holding a conversation with a giant, or perhaps this was a different dialect?

"Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun," he repeated, pounding a fist to his chest with a thump so heavy that I winced at the noise it made.

"Oh," I said, realizing that he was saying his name. "Hello, Wun Weg...Wun..." I trailed off, trying to remember what he had said.

"Wun Wun," he said with a grunt, tilting a chin up at me and I smiled brightly.

"Hello, Wun Wun." That was much easier to remember. "You can call me Hari."

"Hare-ee," he said, sounding my name out. "Hare-ee."

"So, Wun Wun," I said with a smile, turning my body so I could wave a hand towards where Roan and Hera had landed nearby. "Want to meet a dragon?"

Wun Wun had been much more curious about my dragons than he was me, but I didn't let it hurt my feelings. Everyone was curious about dragons. Wun Wun and I had talked slowly to each other, giants being of few words and myself uncertain about how to hold a conversation with a non-human that wasn't Severus. I even got him to give Roan a small pat on the head, Wun Wun's face twisting in a smile that was actually pretty scary to look at, but I found myself smiling along with him anyway.

Loboda found us like that, walking together as I told Wun Wun all about giants from my land – I made certain to use the word land instead of world, the last thing I wanted was for it to get out that I wasn't even of this world – and the frown he sent me was so severe I turned to look behind me to make certain it was me he was that upset with. "Harielle," he said with a grunt and I tried to keep a straight face as Wun Wun echoed him with his 'Hare-ee' a moment later. "I've been looking for you."

"I've been here," I replied, trying not to get cheeky as his frown deepened. "Is something the matter?"

Loboda's brown eyes flicked from me to the giant that was watching both of us curiously. "The Magnar would speak with you," he said after a moment, the words coming out slow and with little inflection.

I felt my stomach sink into my feet and my fingers started to turn the white and red ring over and over again. It did not bring me any comfort.