Warning: It gets a bit violent. I think it's safe to keep it rated T, though.

The Roots

I had a family once. We were ridiculously poor and lived in a tiny house just outside of Bravil. Yep, Bravil. One of the worst cities to live in, if you ask me, but we got by. My family was rather irresponsible, but they were the most loving people I knew. My mother is Svira Stoneheart, a strong, stubborn Nord woman. Her blonde hair hung almost down to her hips, and her eyes were gray-blue. She was a blacksmith, and she taught me the basics at a very young age. My father, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. How they were even a married couple still baffles me to this day! He was a healer, and a damn good one too. His name is Maniel Stoneheart, and he was a Breton. He was short and muscular, and always had a full red beard. His appearance made him look tough and threatening, but this was not who he was at all. He was so gentle and kind. I loved him dearly, and he inspired me to follow in his footsteps as a healer myself. Lastly, I had one older sister, Tahni. She looked just like me, except that she was tall and had bright copper hair and brown eyes, like my father. That girl was quite the bard! She could play both the flute and the lute, and had a voice so beautiful it made my heart ache. I would sometimes play a drum or two with her at a local inn on occasion, just for fun. Although she inherited my mother's fiery stubbornness, my sister was the world to me.

But my mother's stubbornness caught up to her, and it ended up being her demise. OUR demise. My mother was a devout worshipper of Talos, as well as the other eight divines. She refused to give up her god, despite the Thalmor cracking down on Cyrodil. My father warned her time and time again that the Thalmor would find out and discover us, but she insisted that she was being secretive enough.

She was wrong. It was a terrible, terrible day.

I had gone hunting for us, and I usually ventured far from home when I did so. I didn't return until dusk that night. It didn't take much for me to realize what had happened; smoke filled the air and rose so high that it could be seen miles away, and I knew exactly where it was coming from. I can still remember the panic that sunk into my chest. I ran as fast as I could, desperately hoping that I would arrive in time. Desperately hoping no one was trapped inside. And I wish I hadn't.

I arrived to see my home covered in flames, but this was nothing compared to what I saw on the fence posts in front of it. Three heads, all lined in a row. I still remember the order in which they were stuck on the posts: Father, Mother, Sister. And I still remember the look on their lifeless faces.

I'm not sure how the Thalmor didn't notice me emerge from the bushes, and I really didn't care at the moment. I was such an innocent and peaceful young girl. I had never seen such death in my life. And to see my family, my world, so viciously murdered and disgraced like that. . . the feeling was indescribable. The Thalmor knew that there was another daughter. Another Stoneheart. I remember a cold, slippery voice order the others, "Find her!"

So I ran. I ran faster than I ever have in my life, and I didn't stop until I completely collapsed from exhaustion. I had no clue where I was and couldn't risk anyone finding me, so I took shelter in a small cave that I had found. There was no time to mourn, and I knew that. I needed to survive.

The cave, however, was occupied. A young Altmer in rags had appeared from the shadows, concerned about my exhausted state. I nearly killed him on the spot, of course, but he quickly clarified that he was not Thalmor. He was actually going to be initiated as one of them, but he refused, and was now on the run because of it. The Thalmor didn't take such things lightly.

The elf's name was Carenen. The irony of the situation almost made me laugh. He was strangely kind and saw me as his equal, not as some inferior being. Underneath all of the filth and messy dark hair, he was rather handsome, too.

"Are you alright?"

"Stay away from me, elf!" Terah yelled, her short blonde hair wildly framing her face. Keeping her dagger out in front of her, she warned, "I won't hesitate to kill you, Thalmor scum!"

"Whoa, Whoa. Relax," said the Altmer, holding his hands up in defense. "I'm definitely not Thalmor. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Terah wasn't buying it.

The young high elf slowly moved backwards toward a large sack on the ground behind him. "Trust me," he assured her. Slowly, he withdrew a bottle and an apple from the sack, and cautiously approached the frightened little Nord. "It's water, see?" He took a swig of the liquid substance to prove that it was harmless. "Take it. I think you could use it more than I."

After a few hesitant moments, Terah finally accepted the offer, dagger still in hand. She took a small sip just to be sure, and proceeded to gulp the entire bottle down in seconds, never realizing how dehydrated she really was. When she finished, she bashfully handed the bottle back to the kind young elf. "Thank you."

He giggled, "It isn't a problem. Come, sit. You should rest." He beckoned towards a wood pile he had placed near the back of the cave. Terah jumped back in alarm when he blasted the wood with a flames spell. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

The Altmer extended an arm towards her, offering her his hand. Terah stared at it for a moment, still not sure of the kind stranger. After some evaluation of his demeanor and his soft facial expression, she gingerly placed her hand in his.

"That's it. Come on now." He sat her next to him on some torn cloth, a small smile on his face. "You look exhausted. I'm not sure what the Thalmor -"

"Don't," she spat through gritted teeth, "say that word. Ever. I don't wanna hear it ever again."

He cast his eyes down solemnly. "As you wish." They sat in awkward silence. Nothing could be heard but the crackling fire and the crunch of the apple that she had started to heartily eat. When she finished, he piped, "My name is Carenen."

She wasn't interested.

"I ran away from the. . . well, from them too. My father has been a member since I could remember. He pressured me to be initiated as one of them," he said in disgust. "But I don't believe in their philosophy. Their ways go against my peaceful nature."

Silence.

"Will you tell me your name?"

More silence.

Carenen sighed, "Well, I'm here when you're ready to talk."

"Terah," she said coarsely. The Nord shot a nervous glance at the elf and cleared her throat, "My name is Terah."

"Pretty name," he smiled. He turned away from her and grabbed the small wash bin next to him. Dipping a small cloth in the water, he insisted, "Here, let me help wash your face."

She didn't want him to, but her body was too drained to protest. He held her chin in his hand as he slowly wiped away the dirt and tear stains from her fair face. Terah took advantage of their close proximity and studied his face. His dark, messy hair hung freely down to his shoulders, the trademark pointy ears poking out of his locks. Under a layer of dirt, she noted how flawless his olive-green skin was, besides one long scar down his right cheek. And his eyes. His eyes were the brightest shade of emerald she had ever seen.

"Have you never seen an Altmer before?"

Terah nearly jumped in embarrassment, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. Why did she have to be so awkward?

He only laughed, "You're like a scared little doe."

Avoiding her embarrassment, Terah replied, "I noticed that scar on your cheek. I can heal it, if you like."

He subconsciously placed a hand on his cheek. "This? Oh no, I've had it healed already before. It's the best they can do."

"Well their best isn't the same as mine." Terah gingerly placed a hand on his cheek. Closing her eyes, she allowed her magicka to flow through her body and into her palm, concentrating on the thin scar. "How did you get this?" she asked softly.

"My father backhanded me some time back."

"Ah, I see," she replied understandingly. Soon enough, her job was complete. She found much joy in demonstrating her restoration talents to others.

Carenen leaned into the wash bin, admiring his reflection in the water. "Wow, I'm impressed," he said, sounding pleased. "You wouldn't even know it was there."

She shrugged, "I want to be a healer."

"An honorable aspiration," he commended. "You're not like most Nords, you know."

She smiled sheepishly at him, "You're certainly not like most Altmer."

I guess you could say I've always had a thing for mer. Our time together was short, but he grew on me. The Thalmor were openly welcome in Cyrodiil, and we knew we wouldn't last in hiding, so we constructed a plan to flee to Skyrim. I was thrilled; I hadn't been to Skyrim since I was just a small child. I barely even remembered it. All I knew was that my family and I lived in The Rift where income was low and crime rates were high. A couple years after I was born, we packed up and moved south to Cyrodiil for more "opportunity." That was a bust. Bravil wasn't much different than Riften.

It took DAYS, maybe even a week or two, for us to reach the border. We had to sneak around and hide in unspeakable places until it was clear to travel some more, which hindered our progress. Finally, when we reached the northern region of Cyrodiil, we found our nightmare; Thalmor were heavily guarding the border. The only way to get through was to use the element of surprise. We had to be quick and light on our feet, or a most unpleasant death would be inevitable. We camped up for the rest of the evening and waited until nightfall to make our move.

To save the gruesome details, I made it to Skyrim. Carenen did not.

The refugees stared at the marks carved in the dirt, taking the time to analyze their strategy.

"Are you sure this will work?" Terah asked.

The tall elf sighed, "It's the best we can do. Not that we even have much of a choice."

Her heart sank in her chest. "I guess you have a point." She did not feel good about this one bit.

"Let's have some supper one last time, shall we?" he asked, trying to be encouraging. "Then it'll be just you and me. A new life."

"A new beginning," she added hopefully.

He smiled down at her. Altmer were tall, but Carenen towered over Terah. She was also rather short for a Nord. The elf took a deep breath, "And if we don't make it. . ."

Terah's social awkwardness was starting to show again when he bent over and met his lips with hers. They were rough, mainly due to the not-so-ideal lifestyle they had been living. Despite that, however, he kissed her very tenderly. Unsure what to do, she just stood there and shyly kissed him back, enjoying how his long fingers trailed lightly over her face.

He pulled away and softly smiled down at her. She smiled back. It had been her first kiss.

She crept silently amongst the thick branches of the trees, keeping an eye on her companion just across the road. They had managed to sneak by the imperial guards, but getting past the Thalmor would undoubtedly be incredibly and dangerously difficult. There was no way they could stand a fight against them.

They soon ran out of trees to climb and clamber amongst. Carenen spotted an opportunity and signaled Terah to follow his lead. An imperial soldier with his wagon of supplies was preparing to pass through the gate, and there were surprisingly few guards near him. Without words, Terah knew that they would hide there and prayed to the divines that they wouldn't get caught. Carenen slipped in first, then helped Terah clamber in behind him. They buried themselves underneath as many items as they could, and cloaked everything underneath a large, torn cloth. The wagon moved forward for some time, then stopped.

"Halt." It was an unmistakable voice of a Thalmor soldier. "What are you taking with you in the back?"

"Oh, please," scoffed the soldier. "Just some supplies for the legion in Skyrim. Letters, food, books, parchment. . . little bit of everything. What's it to you?"

"What's it to us?" the elf spat. "So ignorant. Search the wagon."

"Come on, I'm getting tired of this nonsense! The legion is on your side!"

Terah's heart stopped in her chest. She felt her friend stiffen with fear as well. Neither of them took a single breath as the goods surrounding them were shuffled and moved around. A pause. . .

What happened next was so fast and shocking, it could've easily been mistaken as a nightmare.

"AHHHH!" Carenen screamed as a Thalmor solder dragged him out by his feet, immediately slicing the backs of his heels.

"Let's see you try to run! Ha!"

Of course, he did try to run, and he sadly collapsed back onto the dirt in agony as his feet were nearly ripped off by his ankles from his own body weight. "YOU MONSTERS!" he screamed.

Carenen's absence left Terah fully exposed, so she bolted out of that wagon faster than she thought was humanly possible. She had to escape. She would not fall to the Thalmor.

"Get that girl!" Terah glanced behind her just in time to see a soldier grab her friend by the hair and begin to saw away at is throat with his elven blade. She turned away in horror, only to slam into a set of green armor, caught in the arms of another elven monster.

His evil, golden eyes seemed to pierced through her very soul as he snarled down at her. "Die, filth!"

But she would have none of it. She wiggled free enough to jam her small thumbs into the demon's evil eyes; anything to stop him from shattering her will with his towering gaze. Then, she called upon a spell that she only managed to pull off once. Apparently, it worked; his face grew pale and his mouth turned blue as frostbite escaped from her fingertips, passing through his eyes and into his skull. She very well might have frozen his brain solid.

Terah threw the lifeless body down beside her, full of rage, and took off toward Skyrim. Several arrows whizzed by her, but she wasn't keeping count. Who knows how far they chased after her. She ran and ran and ran until she could run no more. Her small, fragile body collapsed onto some soft grass. Some smoke could be spotted in the distance not very far from her. Perhaps they were Nords. Perhaps they could help her. She pathetically crawled across the grass, partly ecstatic to be breathing in the cool, crisp air of Skyrim. Her vision was beginning to fade. . .

A woman's voice rung in her ears. She didn't know whether to be startled or relieved. The woman spoke again. That accent! It was Nordic! It must've been enough comfort and security for Terah, because that was when she allowed herself to finally lose consciousness.

The gods must have been watching over me. There was no way a young, unarmed girl could escape the Thalmor without divine intervention. Needless to say, I was rather scarred by my last few weeks in Cyrodiil.

I was 17 then.

Hopefully you are following this alright. If you have any tips or advice, please send them my way!