A/N: Hello my crumpets! Nice to be back round here after all these years (wow things have certainly changed...) Since I'm currently battling my way through a year at a foreign university, new chapters may take their time, but you can be sure they'll be up there eventually! Anyway, here's my first fanfic in ages, hope you enjoy :)

(Prologue is a little flash-forward, by the way.)

Alennu looked up, up into the pair of cold amber eyes that glared at him from the depths of the black hood. The elf was much taller than any he had ever seen, stern-faced and clad in heavy black robes that cloaked his imposing form. Judging by the lustrous gleam of gold trimmings upon his sharp-shouldered uniform, he was a very important person indeed. Certainly more important than any of the others who passed through this quiet part of the Rift.

The elf's skin also drew Alennu's wondering gaze; it was not grey like his father's or honeyed-brown like his new friend Niri's - instead it had the shine of gold to it, gleaming from within as though holding an immense and unimagineable source of magicka. For a brief second he thought, awe-struck, of the legendary Chimer, the distant ancestors of the Dunmer who featured in so many of his father's winter tales at their small family shrine...but of course, the Chimer were no more, and though this person was just as golden and impressive, it was now clear to Alennu that he must be an Altmer of the distant Summerset Isles. Never before had such an elf been seen in this place, at least not by young Alennu in the nine short years of his life -

'What are you staring at, boy?' snapped the tall elf, who was starting to scowl more deeply, sculpted nostrils flaring in annoyance at being watched in such fashion. 'Have you not been taught to show deference to justiciars of the Thalmor?'

An Altmer...but not just any Altmer - a member of the Thalmor. To Alennu, child though he still was, the word was synonymous with danger, linked to whispers of violence and mysterious disappearances...Nords taken from their homes, elves beaten half to death in the wilds.

Hurriedly Alennu bowed, anxious to placate this figure of ruthless and fearsome authority, his barely-restrained terror making the movement a little too fast to be properly polite. Straightening up, he adjusted the bundle of firewood in his arms, hoping to continue on his way quickly, and leave this unforeseen encounter as soon as he could. However, the justiciar had not moved on as he usually would have, after having affirmed his superiority. To Alennu's horror, he was looking directly at him from his lofty height, staring down his noble golden nose at the quivering boy with a gaze too calculating for comfort.

'Where are you from, child?' he asked sharply.

'I...' Alennu clasped his hands together to keep them from trembling. 'I'm from just down the road, sir.'

The justiciar's lip curled. 'I meant your race, idiot boy. I can see very well that you are not a Nord.'

A newer, colder terror seized Alennu - not the simple terror of a boy faced with a stern authority figure, but that of one who knows he is teetering on the brink of real danger.

'I'm a Breton. Sir.'

The justiciar tilted his head back, slowly, heavy-lidded eyes narrowed to the barest glint of amber. For what seemed an eternity he was silent, but just when Alennu was daring to hope that he'd gotten away with it, the Altmer said:

'I don't believe you.'

The lightness of his tone was far more frightening than any other indication of displeasure; Alennu felt himself tremble anew, hands clammy around the sticks. What could he answer to that? He was unsure of even being capable of speech at all.

'What is your name?'

'Alexandre,' Alennu told him, finding his voice, all in desperate earnest. In his looks he took after his Breton mother, who had told him to always use his Breton birth name if questioned thus. 'Please, sir, I really am Breton. My name is Alexandre, Alexandre Serathis, you can ask anyone you like -'

He was speaking so quickly that he barely noticed his fatal error until it was too late, and the Thalmor's graceful form had become deadly still, a cold, hard gleam to his unblinking eyes.

'Serathis, you say?' he whispered. 'Why, that is certainly not a Breton name. That is a Dunmer name.'

Alennu had lost the ability to breathe or move. He stared back helplessly, knees a-tremble as the Altmer's mouth tightened into a grim, mocking half-smile.

'Do you think me a half-wit? I have a very thorough knowledge of the lesser races of mer in Tamriel, boy,' he said softly. 'As a justiciar it was part of my training to recognise racial traits at a glance. And though you think the colour of your skin and your eyes may fool everyone, you cannot hide the structure of your bones, or the shape of the tips of your ears. I can see very clearly that you are not just a member of the lower races...you are a filthy, mongrel half-mer.'

The absolute softness and iciness of his voice froze Alennu to the spot, menacing and low as the growl of a sabretooth cornering its prey.

'We take a very dim view of abominations such as yourself, little halfling,' whispered the justiciar. 'Purity of blood must be strictly adhered to, if other mer are to follow our great example. How can they aspire to be like us if they mate with humans and sully their bloodlines?' His lip curled. 'Look at yourself. An ungainly mix of traits never meant to merge in the first place. Neither elf nor human. Mongrels like you have no place in this world.'

His hand was resting upon the hilt of the gleaming elven mace at his belt, and at that moment Alennu knew that he had to either run or die.

Dropping his carefully-collected firewood, he fled down the path, away from the Thalmor, away from the fearsome judgement that seared in the justiciar's eyes -

He had barely covered any distance when suddenly a jolt of lightning it hit him, crackling hot and blue over his skin. It was unlike any other pain he had felt, seizing up his limbs and draining all magicka from his body. He screamed out, falling to the ground and curling convulsively into a ball, trembling violently beneath the merciless and powerful force of the Thalmor -

The sound of a man shouting reached his ringing ears, and abruptly the bolts of searing energy were gone, no longer hurting him, though the ache still gripped every muscle. Alennu struggled to his feet, spinning about to see why he had been spared.

A short distance away the justiciar was grappling with someone who had leapt at him - old Hrogar, judging by the grey pony that was milling about unattended by the wayside.

'Run, boy! Quickly!' Hrogar bellowed hoarsely, struggling to pin the tall Altmer's arms to his sides. Despite having not a single trace of magicka within him, a lifetime of hard work in the fields had made Hrogar brawny even in his old age, something which he was now using to his advantage against the furious elf.

Not needing to be told twice, Alennu set off as fast as he could down the road, legs still stiff from the attack. Behind him Hrogar wrestled valiantly with the Altmer, buying him valuable time to make his escape. Only when he had reached the last hilltop did Alennu chance to look back, gasping for breath and clutching at a stitch in his side.

Hrogar was still locked with the Thalmor, having successfully disarmed him and immobilised his wrists...but further up the road two more elves, almost as tall as the justiciar and clad in elven-made armour of gleaming gold, were clattering towards them at speed.

A sob of horror escaped Alennu as he saw the flash of an elven sword, hearing the distant, indistinguishable shouts of the old man as he challenged his attackers. Then, Hrogar was doubled over, the justiciar tearing his gloved hands free as the Thalmor soldiers raised their swords again -

Alennu turned away and fled, but still caught the bright flash of lightning and the terrified whinny of the grey pony, which drowned out any cry that may have come from Hrogar as he was overcome.

Alennu half-fell over the rickety fence surrounding the potato plot, scrambling to his feet and racing toward the familiar figure tending to the plants there. Breathless and weeping, he threw himself at his father, clinging onto the fabric of his faded scarf and burying his face in his clothing.

''Nu?' his father asked in bewilderment. 'What is it?'

'There - there was a Thalmor on the road,' Alennu sobbed. 'He stopped me and he knew I was half-mer and then he hurt me, and old Hrogar's -'

'Thalmor?' his father repeated, taking him by the shoulders, meeting his son's teary hazel eyes with a concerned red gaze beneath black, arched brows. 'Tell me everything.'

With a few sniffs Alennu did so, though when he reached the part concerning brave old Hrogar the lump in his throat choked any further words from leaving him. Instead, he wrapped himself around his father, who lifted him in his ever-sinewy grey arms, carrying him to the house with a murmur of consolation.

Hurriedly opening the door with a hip, Alennu still in his arms, Lleryn called out: 'Margot? Margot, my love, are you there?'

'Lleryn? What is it?' Alennu's mother appeared from the main room, alerted by the panic in her husband's voice.

'Alennu was attacked by a justiciar on the road, Margot,' he told her, voice quivering. 'They know.'

Alennu looked over at his mother, and saw the fear pale her face. She pushed her unruly brown curls back, eyes flicking between her husband and their child. 'They...they know?'

Alennu sniffed. 'At first I thought he was going to leave me alone once I bowed to him like he wanted,' he told her tearfully. 'When he asked me my name I said my Breton name, Alexandre, like you told me to. But...but he saw...' Fresh tears ran hot down his cheeks, and Lleryn gathered him close, hushing his weeping.

'How badly hurt is he?' Margot asked in hushed tones.

'A few light burns,' Lleryn answered grimly. 'Fetcher must have used a shock spell. Poor lad's quite shaken, but he'll heal up soon enough.'

Tight-lipped, Margot straightened up, looking about herself. 'We have to leave, then, and quickly,' she said, low and decisive. 'They'll be searching the whole of the Rift for him.'

Alennu raised his head. 'Leave?' he repeated.

'Your mother is right, I'm afraid,' Lleryn murmured. 'We can't afford to wait for an entire cohort of Thalmor soldiers to break down our door. Come on, 'Nu. Let's get our things together.'

In a daze, Alennu complied, shuffling to the tiny bedroom that had been his for as long as he could remember. This house - this modest, homely house with his father's prized vegetable garden outside - it had been his home since he was a baby. To leave it all behind so suddenly...he thought of his friends, of Niri the little Bosmer girl who fired nuts at him with her slingshot whenever he was in the woods...would he ever see them again? Saddened and still stunned, he helped his father fill an old sack with his possessions, no longer certain of anything any more.

A/N: (I love reviews! They are my motivation!)