Hey TwinShadows6 with my first story. I'll try to come out with new chapters soon, but don't get your hopes up. Please point out any spelling and grammar mistakes and any suggestions are greatly appreciated. Also, please be polite in your reviews. I don't want any online arguments or insults on my page and I will have no tolerance for rude remarks and will not listen to your reviews if you are rude to me. The first chapter is mostly an introduction but I'll try to make it more exciting in later chapters.
10/13/13: For those of you who are rereading this, you've probably noticed that the chapter looks a little different. That's because I've finally gotten to rewriting this. Don't worry; like I said in one of my author's notes, the chapter won't have any change to the plot and things like that. Mostly I've just made the chapter flow a bit better and added several descriptions that should help you be able to picture the characters better. Note: I know that my description of Cheydinhal may seem a little lacking if you haven't played Oblivion. Unfortunately, I haven't either so sorry if things are off. Luckily it shouldn't get in the way. As well as the content, the name of this first chapter has also been changed, just so there's no confusion. Lastly, for the many people who are reading this for the first time, hopefully you skipped this part of the author's note and read on but if you did, then sorry about the wasted time. Well, signing out now and I hope you keep a look out for future chapters!
The moment I was out of the manor, I full-on sprinted straight into the woods. I never looked back, even though my parents called after me and I didn't even bother to try and lose them as they could never catch me. Not when I was five, not now, not ever. I soon neared the line of abandoned houses that border Cheydinhal. I knew next to nothing of about them, only that a few dated back to the Third Era at least and they had been abandoned even then. But then again, there were also stories of ghosts and people going in and never coming out. I'd been around them for most of my life, and last I checked, I'm still doing just fine.
I ran until I found a huge oak and climbed up as far as I could go and hid in its leafy branches. From there, I saw my parents pass by below, calling for me to come out, but to no avail. Once they left, I let my thoughts take me.
It had been when my father was running his stall in the marketplace that the Altmeri advisor (Thalmor ambassadors who 'advised' each Count and Countess but actually just made sure their stupid White-Gold Concordant peace treaty was upheld) Edwendir and his wife Cecilia had come up to him and formally invited him and the rest of the family to dinner. It was bad enough that we had never been on good terms with them and it was even worse that their son Malcolm had started to take an interest in me. As much as I despised him, I have to admit that even for an Altmer he was handsome. Golden blonde hair, pale golden skin, warm brown eyes, and tall even for his age (which is saying something for High Elves); basically, he had all the traits that would make nearly every elven girl swoon. But unlike every other girl in town, I saw past his looks and could see his snobby, brat-like attitude. He grew up with everything given to him and because of that, anything he wanted, he expected to have it and to not have to ask twice for it. And what he wanted now was me.
When the s'wit had suddenly become head-over-heels for me is a mystery, but as soon as he started to become an adult, he swore that I would be his. When my family had been given the invitation, we naturally wanted to refuse, but knowing that turning them down could cause big trouble for us, we accepted anyway. During dinner, they offered us a simple deal: they would help support my family for the rest of their lives (which for one struggling in Cyrodiil is something you don't turn down likely) if I agreed to marry Malcolm. Unfortunately for them, my parents already knew more than they wanted to about him and so they kindly rejected the offer. They even went on to say that I already had an application to the College of Winterhold in Skyrim that was due any day now. Surely the advisor's family wouldn't want me to turn away such a grand opportunity?
But naturally, the two Altmer never liked someone not doing what they wanted and quickly argued that an Altmer-Dunmer hybrid such as myself should be grateful that the son of a powerful Thalmor family even considered my hand at all. And just to add insult to injury, they reprimanded the very idea of sending an elf, even one such as me, to a school full of human mages and that it would be better for me not to pass up such an honor as being courted by an Altmer from a high-ranking, pure-blooded family such as theirs and that I should reconsider the offer before making a such rash decision. My face had flushed red with anger as I watched my parents try to reason with pig-headed idiots, only to have both sides arguing back and forth, their voices just stray of yelling. Eventually I got so fed up with them that I stood up from the ornate dining table and yelled something that consisted of me never marrying Malcolm as long as I lived and neither the Deadra nor the Divines would change my mind and I quickly stormed out of the overly furnished manor and into the night.
Pulling myself out of memory lane and into the present, I looked down to see that my parents had left. Probably to go back to the house and wait for me to come home I thought and, knowing that they would stay up for me, climbed down the tree and started to head back toward the city lights that shown faintly into the black night. I walked slowly back to the house, now aware that as my thoughts had occupied my attention, tonight had silently passed by, and now it was past midnight and definitely well passed my curfew. Gods, I'm going to be in so much trouble when I get home. The last thing I need to do is skip curfew. Again. Dang it, why do they have to get so riled up about me staying out a little late?
I sighed, knowing that it was impossible to argue the point when, in fact, theirs was quite justified. Ever since the Great War with the Aldmeri Dominion, violence in both my hometown and in province of Cyrodiil has been constant. Bandits roam the roads constantly with the guards doing nothing to stop it. Even worse, in recent years, the skooma war that nearly destroyed Bravil had come here, resulting in many of the buildings being set on fire and there was more than one story of a neighbor's house being raided and robbed.
I used to remember hearing tales from villagers whose ancestors had lived here during the Third Era say that Cheydinhal was once like a jewel, full of culture with clean streets and beautiful Dunmer styled buildings. But now the violence of the Fourth had ripped away such beauty, with the town now a shadow of its former self, something that could be easily seen with half of the city now abandoned and the only shops being the stalls in the market place. Even most of the houses had been destroyed, replaced with simple one room replicas that you were lucky didn't come with dirt floors. All in all, the bustling city of Cheydinhal was now a miserable little town that was barely hanging on to its existence. Already most of the inhabitants believe that it'll be a ghost town within a few years.
As it stood, it wasn't long until I was at the doorstep to the small little cottage that I called home. I put my hands on the worn wooden knob and was about to turn it when I heard the rustling of bushes not far away. I turned into the night but found nothing there. Probably just scared a rabbit. Don't be so paranoid, my mind thought as I turned and opened the door. Before I was even halfway through, strong hands pulled me in and closed the door behind me.
"Mivryna! Where have you been? Never mind, at least you're home. Your father and I have been worried sick! And don't even get me started on how much trouble you're in." My mother looked at me, eyes narrowed and arms crossed over her chest. Naturally by now, my mother's appearance had been more than engraved into my mind. She had the usual pale gold skin, angular elven features, and towering height that was normal for an Altmer, her golden blonde hair slightly wavy and cut to just barely reach the base of her neck, and beautiful arcing eyebrows that many women, both human and elven, would die to have. Her normally full lips were now pressed into a thin line, making her signs of age much more apparent, which my mother never tried to hide with makeup because she considered it useless as she already had a husband. I quickly looked away from her startling green eyes that now clearly showed her anger, the color a rarity that was vastly different than the golden brown that was so common among her race. And much to my occasional dislike, it was a rarity that I had inherited.
As she stared down at me, I looked around the room, as if searching for an answer. Of course, nothing in our one-room house ever helped. The place was rather bare save the minimum necessities and a few shelves that held candles and flowers for decoration. My parent's bed was pushed in the right corner by the door with a nightstand beside it and a wooden dresser standing at the bed's feet. A small round table and three chairs that we ate our meals at lay in the other corner on the right side of the house, with a cupboard for storage behind it. In the middle directly straight across from the door was our small stone fireplace where our meals were cooked on a small spit with a single cooking pot. In the back left corner of the room stood my single bed, a dresser to its right with a small mirror situated on top of it along with my hairbrush and a few pieces of cheap jewelry. Very different from the Thalmor advisor's manor, whose was full of many different rooms that each held some new form of entertainment.
Pulling myself out of my thoughts once again, I sat on the side of mother and father's bed and waited for the long tirade that every parent gives their child when they come home way past curfew. But instead my mother signed. "You know that wasn't the best way to handle the situation back at the manor. Yelling at the advisor and his wife and storming off like a child is not going to help anyone. Quite possibly you could have made it worse." My mother sat down at the table, rubbing her eyes from the stress of a hard day.
I knew I shouldn't argue the point, but I could no longer hold back what I wanted to say since I left the stupid place. "What was I supposed to do? They acted like I wasn't even there, like I couldn't hear what they were saying! And even worse, they treated me no better than a piece of property! You heard them! They were bargaining for Malcolm to marry me like a horse at an auction! How was I supposed to keep quiet when they acted me like that right to my face? Huh?" I blurted out. I instantly regretted those words, as they were the last thing that I should be saying, but I couldn't take it anymore. I was sick of all of them and their stuck-up attitudes.
Despite my offending words, my mother just sighed and continued to rub her eyes. "I know, honey, but acting immature like that never fixed anything. You could have caused a lot more trouble if Malcolm wasn't so obsessed with you. Gods, that boy is truly in love with you, with him staring at you all during dinner, trying to get your attention. And that look in his eyes," my mother shivered at the thought, "you better stay as far away from him as best as you can. That boy is nothing but trouble. Something tells me that it isn't your looks that have him attracted to you. In fact, don't go near any of the advisor's family. The last thing I want is something bad to happen to you."
"Done." I said, wanting the conversation to end. I looked around and noticed the absence of the third member of our family. "Where's Father?" I asked.
"Trying to calm down the advisor. At your outburst, his face turned scarlet. I hope he can prevent them from making our life worse. It's bad enough that they don't like us because a pure-bred Altmer and a Dunmer decided to marry and ruin the bloodlines by having you." Guilt welled inside me. Although the Count and Countess ruled Cheydinhal, the advisor basically controlled them because of their connection to the Thalmor, which meant they could easily find dirt on you that could put you in jail for a good while, even if you had nothing to hide. And the fact the Thalmor rarely listened to anyone but those higher than them (which for a high-ranking Thalmor such as the Edwendir is no one), my father could have better luck leading our mule to the river.
"Was he having any luck before you left?" I asked nervously.
Mother was spared responding by the sound of the door opening and Father walking in. He saw me and smiled. "Ah, Mivryna, there you are. I was hoping you had come home. I thought about looking for you, but I decided you might have come home already."
Smiling back at him, I studied my father for any change, but found none. As always, he still looked exactly the same with the usual sharp elven features that were painted with ash-colored skin. His slanted eyes shined an eerie crimson, his dark eyebrows arching dramatically up towards his hairline, easily following the bone. The edges of his pale mouth tilted downward, giving him a cynical look and revealed the lines of stress that had aged him considerably, which wasn't helped by the tiny pink scar that ran across his cheekbone, a light pink easily outline by his dark skin. As usual, his long dark brown hair that appeared nearly black was tied up in the typical high Dunmeri ponytail that was common for men and his chin was covered with a short beard that was cut close to the skin, also of the same dark brown that colored his eyebrow and hair. As my father looked back at me and studied my own face, I grew increasingly aware that I so obviously took after my mother. Body of an Altmer, mind of a Dunmer they always told me.
Quickly I jerked myself back to our conversation. "So what's my punishment?" I said as I glanced over at my mother.
"Well, I was thinking about grounding you, but I think your father has been needing help at the stall. You work with your father until lunch every day for a week. Clear?"
"Clear," I said.
"Good, now go to bed, you'll need to wake up early tomorrow."
"Alright." I replied simply as I walked over to the other side of the room where my bed and dresser was. I pulled out my nightgown, dressed, and slipped into bed without a word. Even though it was way past midnight, I couldn't sleep and kept tossing and turning. I never slept very well at night and it didn't help that a lot had gone on that day. No doubt my yelling at his parents wouldn't convince Malcolm that I would never have anything to do with him. And since I would be at the market stall all morning tomorrow, things couldn't get any worse.
I sighed as I turned over once again, listening to the sounds of my parents slipping into their own bed. I closed my eyes and hoped that exhaustion would eventually come and take me, but a feeling of apprehension kept me up. Why is it, I thought, that for some reason, I feel that tonight was the beginning of something important? And why does that feeling also say that I won't like the ending?
One more quick little thing: I know that I didn't give a description of Mivryna so don't lose it; it's in the next chapter. And with that please review and PM. Constructive criticism is appreciated (hate reviews are not).