The sun was a little too heavy that day. Golden curtains draped themselves lazily on everything within reach of the sky, the heat humming along with the wasps, birds and cooing toads. Small white birds settled, content, on a large stump - blissful and unaware. "You sure do talk a lot of shit for a measly little brat ," another fair-faced boy with fine features took a step forward. The girl's mouth twitched, short and small as she was. "Is that all you know how to do? Smirk at people and hope the mean words go away? You're pathetic!" The boy was trying so hard to sound cruel and cold but his voice cracked under the pressure of his own rage.

She couldn't contain it any longer, she was simply better than those idiots and the truth raged out. A smirk had already bloomed into a portrait of disdain and amusement. A perfect expression for a noble, she thought. "I was only concerned. Children lash out at their betters when their mothers drink away the money that was supposed to buy their way into the academy." That's what coldness sounds like. He pushed her hard. Thud! She toppled over the tree trunk, the birds fluttering away in alarm. The other three boys closed in.

"I never wanted to go to the academy! It's a place for people to send the kids they didn't want away for thirty years, anyways. Idiots, spoiled brats and," he paused meaningfully, "troublesome bastards."

Already she was seeing red, but she desperately wanted to look cool and collected. Say the worse thing. Do it with a smile. Stun them and they won't think you're weak."You would know about that, Tristram. Who knows what your brother's been up to in Elsweyr?" Too cruel! Too cruel! The boys circled her even closer now, sparks flickering at their hands.

"It has to be hard being a halfbreed,"

"I'm not a-"

"You're small, you have a round, ugly little wood elf face and you think you can hide that because you can cast a spell," he grasped her face roughly, "When really, everyone knows you'd be shitting in the forest if your father didn't beat you-" She spat on him. He grabbed her. Flames engulfed her arms, blazing so hot the they quickly licked the sleeves of the boy's tunic. He yelped, cradled his hand, and desperately swallowed the pain to look menacing once more.

She put all of her effort into burying any visible sign of rage, "So," the fire dissipated from her arms and balled into her fists, "You must've been looking for a fight, huh?"

The boys all had their sparks out in full view, the air literally full of static. "We'll really hurt you this time, halfbreed!"

"AERONWENN!" An imperious figure cut its way through the sunshine, casting shadows on the conflict in its way.

A boy slammed her with a jolt of shock just as she turned away, but he regretted it. She turned back and punched him, grimacing at the punishment she inflicted on her already bruised knuckles. All four boys scattered as the grown man cut a path through the overgrown grass. The figure, slowly turning into a weary face, dragged her away with ease.

He looked so much older than he was. The shadows of his Thalmor's hood highlighted every crease and line, stretching them out, exaggerating them. Long yellow hair that was usually neatly tied back pooled around his face. The man cut an impressive frame when fetching his little sister from mean boys and fights but when harm was out of the way he slumped and sighed. You almost wouldn't realize how strong his body really was. He still had an iron grip on her hand even as the tied up horses grew near and an open-mouthed thrall peered over at the two. He snapped his fingers and the thrall became a simple log once more. She pulled away from him and folded her arms - an instinctual, protective thing more than anything else.

"This is the fourth time since Sun's Height began," his voice was empty, drained of anger, "I just... I don't know what to do anymore." She hated that voice more than being hit or yelled at. She hated it more than her father's harsh disapproval and indifference. She almost hated it more than being called a halfbreed bastard. Almost.

"I didn't start any of this," she murmured.

"We have to be better, Aeron! There are only so many times I can explain to the council-" It was almost a relief to hear him be angry again.

"Who cares what the council thinks?!" She threw the words back at him before she could even process them, "Who cares what any of them think?! They follow me on my way home after lessons, they show up whenever I go somewhere alone, I don't know what do either! You act like you know all the right things to do because you're part of the Thalmor now, but you don't!"

"I know better than you..."

"Do you? Do you, Roscoe?"

"Maybe you want Father to deal with-" he stopped himself, but Aeronwenn's lip was already quivering, "I'm sorry."

"...They've made you different."

The air between the two had frozen solid, impossible to breathe. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean you never worshiped the council-"

"That's not fair! I have to go to them, I have to listen to them. And you keep on getting in these fights with all of their children and I have to cover for you, I have to tell them why you're worth educating! Every time another Granour boy gets a black eye or the tiniest burn they turn to me and ask why this happened. And can I explain it? How can I explain this - any of this?! Our family isn't in favor anymore, we're on thin ice and every new fight makes it that much thinner! I just need you to-"

"It's always about what you need."

"It's about our family!"

"Maybe our family isn't so great anyways! Maybe things would be better without an Elsinfaere family."

Roscoe looked at her at first with anger, raising a hand as though to slap her, but he looked at her visibly trembling with hopeless rage, her scratched up face, bruised hands and jolted shoulder - her golden hair pulled out of its tie. He sighed sadly. "You don't mean that, Aeron," he paused, "That one boy got you pretty badly on the shoulder. You should let Marino take a look." He examined her hands thoughtfully, "You're getting good at punching assholes. I think we can pass this one off as a training accident to father."

Aeronwenn smiled just a little bit. That was the brother she knew.

"We need to keep you on the estate for a few months, though."

That couldn't be! She was the best student in her class, the most powerful young fire maniac Alinor had ever seen! She was a goddamn treasure to the magical world! She couldn't miss lessons, not now! Just as she was about to raise unholy objections he squashed it firmly.

"I'll train you."

That quieted the lion's share of her doubt and protest. She went wide-eyed, "You'll show me some of that stuff the Thalmor teach you?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, "I thought the Thalmor were a bunch of overwrought, self-important wannabe lords?"

"Uh-"

"They do know a thing or two, you know."

"It's still true and always will be... but that fire rune thing is pretty cool."

"Agh, Aeron, you're not ready for those kinds of spells," he quickly added, "And it's not that it's beyond your range, it's that you'd understand them too quickly and I don't think I trust you to use any kind of explosive runes responsibly... We'll see in a few weeks."

At that, Aeronwenn knew well when to shut up. She quietly climbed onto the grey horse and patted her mane. Roscoe climbed onto his horse, a black stallion, courtesy of the Thalmor.

It really was a beautiful day, and twilight was just beginning to embrace the sky as the two took off, a plate of familiar fruits offered on a silver platter. The trees, high and proud, yawned along with the wind. It was comfortable. Cool. She would have closed her eyes but she remembered what happened last time she tried to close her eyes while riding a horse.

The path to the Elsinfaere estate wasn't as extravagant as others, but it wasn't natural either. It was one of the few paved paths in the area and stood out like a sore thumb amid the greenery. The dull thud of the horses' hooves turned into a cacophony of clatters against the hard surface - Aeronwenn's favorite noise and the only thing she really enjoyed about the ugly, out of place path at all. The trees around it were strictly trimmed and cut into line, sometimes getting torn down completely and replanted if it just wouldn't look right. Everything else, besides the path and soldier trees standing at attention, was overgrown and poorly maintained.

Her parent's manor was otherwise beautiful, ancient mottled stone fitted smoothly together, angular and slender all at once. The building cut a menacing frame with three tall towers, of equal space and height, attached to it. There was a small moat with a bridge that had to be fashioned after the original draw-bridge was removed - it felt more like one of those pleasant ponds the other nobles enjoyed than the defensive boon it once was. Roscoe stopped his horse, the spirited animal rearing back, kicking at the wind and casting a dramatic shadow. "Easy there, Beanie," he whispered, the horse still unaccustomed to being ridden by him.

"Why don't you do things like that, Greyheart the Magnificent?" The horse didn't even whinny, she just snorted and tried to eat some of the grass at her hooves.

"Don't let her do that while riding her."

Aeronwenn tried to pull the reigns only for the animal to pull even harder for the grass in response. "Let's just get them in the stable, Roscoe," nothing defeated the girl more than trying to discipline a horse.

"I'll get them, you just go inside.'

They climbed down and Roscoe took Greyheart the Magnificent's lead along with Beanie's. Aeronwenn was left to face the doors alone. They were new, only about 25 years old. The doors were made of smooth ebonywood imported from Elsweyr, darker than Beanie's coat, outlined with richly toned purple glass. It, like many things in the estate, was lovely. But she worried more about damaging it most of the time - like some things, but not others, it took only once for her to never do it again.

She pushed the door open and found the house mostly dark, the spells lighting it having worn out. After a hard day, at least father was still at the capital. The grand hall of Elsinfaere, however, was traditionally lit with candles. Apparently it had some anti-magic properties in the foundation to keep all the ancient nobles who visited there from fighting. The lone light came from a huddled mass with a candle, poring over a scroll in some wonky old Aldmer dialect. His bright eyes were squinting heavier than usual and, unlike her other brother, his hair was cut short for convenience such as being able to read scrolls without hair in the face. "Marino?"

The man looked over at her, acknowledged her presence, and dug right back into snoresville ancient nonsense. She approached him still, "Brother, whatcha reading?"

"Oh it's really fascinating, it's a treatise on conjuring regulations in the," he cleared his throat, "Sohmer-sed Isles of old. The ancients believed that soul gems needed to be used within five months of their creation and that nobles could own fifteen at once, commoners ten and kings twenty-five so when emergencies hit they could store the extra soul gems and measure them accurately for-" She was lost at Sohmer-sed and old.

"You have bruises on your, uh, wait, you haven't been fighting again, have you?"

"Roscoe already told me off about it, don't worry."

He breathed a sigh of relief, "Ah, yes, good, because that's... bad. And you shouldn't do that." He wagged his finger like he was talking to a poorly behaved cat, realized what he was doing, and shamefully put the wagging finger away. "Those don't look too bad, actually. You've gotten good at-"

"The whole punching assholes thing?"

"Yes - I mean no. No." Out again came the pointing finger of awkward scolds. "Just, uh, let me see, I have something for that kind of thing." He got up and motioned for her to follow.

"Of course you have something for it, you always do," she beamed at him. He looked at her warmly and focused back on the task at hand. The corridors in Elsinfaere manor were actually logically laid out, two main wings ending in a tower and a back area for servants, cooks and weary travelers of lower status, if any lived there, which none did. He led her down to the east wing where his laboratory was located.

"So, we know that last time the healing spells didn't help that much. I think I'm comfortable experimenting on bruised knuckles, though. And," he stopped and gently examined her smoking shoulder, "I have something for that."

...

Aeronwenn sat at the edge of the 'moat', staring numbly at the water. She had been looking again to see if there was anything living below the thick scum on the surface. Every time she jostled around the slime it shifted back in place. How anything could stand living beneath that was beyond her. Just as she was about to give up on moping around the estate and perhaps read something for once, a hand grasped her shoulder. She flinched only to see Roscoe with a couple of books in his arms.

"You're back home!" she threw her arms around him as best as she could, "What's those books for? Are they for our lesson?"

"Of course, Aeron," he shot her a sly smile, "A little something from the library where I work."

"Are they-"

"They're not fire runes. But I think there's a technique to help you get the hang of wards in there."

"Hm," she eyed the books suspiciously, "Wards aren't the most useful of spells. Why block something when I can just set it on fire?"

"It's okay to struggle with something, you don't have to pretend the thing you struggle with is useless."

"Hmmmmm..."

"You're going to learn wards whether you like it or not."

"Hmmmmmmmmm..." she giggled, "Alright. I'll give it another shot. Anything else for me in there?"

"Nope, it's all wards. In fact, all the words in them just say 'wards wards wards'. Every picture is just the same man casting a ward."

There was a pause, and both of them laughed, "I know destruction is your talent, but I think you should be well rounded. I'm going to try to teach you some conjuring and mystic spells. And there's an alteration spell that I think you might like if you don't feel like wards. Think of this as your 'everything else' lesson day."

Happily chatting about their days, the siblings walked together towards the manor, only to be stopped by Marino. The man was white as a sheet.

"Father is home."

"Oh. Well," Roscoe tried to play it off, "Let's go see what he has to say this time, then."

"No, he... he wants to talk to Aeronwenn. Alone."

Aeronwenn's breath hitched in her throat. She rolled her eyes. "I guess that incident from last week would catch up to me eventually," she said, shrugging, "Well, I'm off to go die. Please scatter my ashes in an active volcano."

Their concerned looks prompted only a nonchalant hand to the back of the head, "Well, what can you do? I guess I'll just go," and just before she turned around, Roscoe gently stopped her.

"You don't have to see him alone."

Marino quickly nodded in agreement.

"I'll be alright. I mean, he's our dad, we gotta trust him, right?"

"I... I suppose."

Just as she was about leave once more, Roscoe gently took her shoulders into his hands, looking her in the eyes, "If he hurts you-"

"That was three years ago. And I was being uh, insolent, you know how I was back then."

"No. Aeron. You didn't-"

"I'll be fine. I mean, I'm good at complaining, but at the end of the day it's not a big deal."

Marino's lips tightened, "You don't complain that much."

She quickly turned around, "I'll see you later, and don't cancel my lesson, Roscoe."

The walk to the manor was slower than usual, the soldier trees looming over her like disapproval flowed upwards through their roots. She opened the door, careful not to let it slam. "Father?"

He had cold, stony features and nearly always wore the robes of the Thalmor. His hands, unlike many nobles, were scarred and callused from battle - and they tapped the table of the grand hall impatiently. He had been staring at the door with his the entire time he waited, she could just sense it. "Took your time, Aeronwenn. What kept you?"

"I, uh -"

"You're lazy and fear punishment."

"Yes. Wait. I don't fear -"

"Maybe I haven't done enough to make you afraid. Clearly even my best efforts were not enough to bring you in line." he stood up and she flinched, "You've grown quite arrogant and selfish over the years. Your only blessing is your talents, but what are you doing besides focusing on your studies? Traipsing about the forest? No, not merely that. You aren't content merely with that. You go out and you fight like a little savage with your own Aldmer brethren. You go and you-"

"Oh, come on! They followed me out into the forest and surrounded me, it's not like I asked for it!"

"Do you mind repeating that?" he asked with an icy edge.

"I..." she was quickly losing confidence, time to be outrageous, "I'm tired of you going on about shit like I even care!"

"You are worthless!"

"I wonder where I get it from?!"

The man went odd and rigid, "I'm ashamed of you."

"You made me," she did everything in her power to keep her eyes dry, her fists rapidly turning white as she dug her nails into her palm.

She was at a point where it barely registered when people hit her until hours later, where she could nurse her wounds alone. When she stood there, eyes dry, face red and burning from yet another slap and the same angry look, he was taken aback. Maybe a little impressed. The same rage that had taken control a moment ago was replaced with cold fury.

"You will respect me."

"No."

He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the East hall, muffling sound with his spells with each stride. Aeron's defiance was replaced quickly with wild fear. She pulled away helplessly, yelling, "Let me go! Let me go!" It was like pulling away a horse from grass, nothing would give. She tried hitting, pulling harder, begging and but his grip was iron. Ice ran up and down the man's arms, her hand burning. She could feel her shoulder slip again and a familiar pain sliced through her left arm. Aeron went quiet, "Let me go."

The man stopped, the ice in his palms intense enough for her to cry out if she didn't bite her tongue. "That's your problem. You don't know your place. You never knew your place. You don't have a place."

"I said let me go."

It happened in that odd way, so quick she couldn't comprehend it, so slow every terrible detail dragged out into eternity. He raised a hand and she let forth a burst of fire, smoldering heat, something from the depths of Oblivion itself. It burned hot and intense - something as fragile as flesh had little defense for it. He screamed agony and righteous fury as half his face melted under the extremes of fire. Aeron's face changed from fear and determination to pure horror. She would have stayed to make sure he wasn't dying, but she couldn't afford to.

She had to leave.