My mother turned cold after that. Not cold like people thought she was in the first place, but actually cold. The night she washed his blood from my hands was the last time she touched me. Her hair stayed pinned in a tight knot against her head. I never saw her lounging in the arm chair again.
Father's best friend waited a respectful two months after the mourning period was over to propose to my mother. He was some sort of general during the great war, now a politician. He tried at first to play with me, to help me assimilate into this new place. He would set up meetings with other children of wealthy families. Some of those went well, but I was still too small and bitter to try and be happy, so he quickly gave up.
I blamed myself for all of it. I somehow started the argument between my parents. I somehow made the men kill papa. I made my mother re-marry. I made everyone move from my home, the manor I loved, to some house in the Imperial city. I got all the servants fired.
"Just make the best out of it"
Day in and day out.
"Just make the best out of it"
I was eight. How was I supposed to make the best out of anything, when no one was willing to help me, to talk to me?
That's because you pushed them all away. No. No, they didn't try hard enough. They should care about me. Your fault, your fault, your fault.
The internal argument was the only thing that filled up the silence. I tried to act out, to get attention, a scolding, a spanking, anything. I began to steal, mother's jewels, step-father's letters. I melted into shadows easily, I was never caught. That was, until I made the mistake of wandering into the kitchen.
I remember reaching for a knife, a big knife, when a hand, thin but strong, the loveliest shade of green-brown closed around my wrist. I looked up into big, green-gold eyes.
"And what are you planning to do with that?"
Her hair was tawny-red. Sharp cheekbones, a prominent brow, thin lips, the opposite of what I had been taught was beautiful. But to me, it was like staring at a god.
"Are you going to answer?" She asked sternly. She still hadn't released my wrist.
I looked up at her, blankly, before I felt the tears start to well in my eyes. I cried for a month after father died, but not since them. Now it was all coming out.
"Gods and Daedra" The bosmer woman said, releasing me. "Come on now, let's go find your mother."
At that point I wailed, clinging to her skirt, screaming incoherently. I didn't want mother. I wanted her.
She looked down at me, thin lips pressed into a frown. "You're too old to throw a tantrum," Her fists rested on her thin hips. "Do you want to stay here?"
I stopped screaming and nodded.
"Fine. But make yourself useful" She gave me a knife, much smaller than the one I originally wanted, and pointed at the corner. "Go peel potatoes- oh, and- Faenthil!" A boy appeared, a few years older than me, dressed in the same drab servant's clothes. He had the same tawny hair and green-gold eyes. "Make sure she doesn't hurt herself" she said with a sigh, turning away.
The boy sneered at me. I followed him to the corner she had indicated and took the potato he handed me, carving chunks out of it.
"Not like that" The boy said, taking both the potato and the knife, trying to show me to cut off only the skin. But my eyes were on the woman. It was mesmerizing to watch her move around the kitchen, cutting things up, throwing them into pots, lighting fires with her fingers.
"Like this?" I asked the fifth time that week, holding a basket of potatoes up for her inspection. Aelwyn was the bosmer woman's name. Faenthil was her son, four years older than me.
She picked one up, nodding in approval as she turned it around in her head. "That'll do"
I beamed, watching as she added them to a pot of boiling water.
"You grin like a cat" Aelwyn said, touching my nose.
"It's creepy." Faenthil mumbled.
I stuck my tongue out at him, running as soon I saw him start to move. He was faster than me. He caught me, like he always did. His mother was my only saving grace.
Only, it was my mother who was towering over us this time.
Faenthil scrambled off of me, and I stood too. I could feel Aelwyn rise slowly behind us. She felt like a bear behind me, ready to pounce.
"Your father would have you eat dinner with your family tonight" She said slowly, drawing out every syllable.
"He's not my father," I mumbled, dusting my dress off. But I followed her out, giving Faenthil and Aelwyn a remorseful gaze over my shoulder.
My not-father was already seated at the head of the table. He smiled as we entered, standing quickly to pull out the chair for my mother.
"Your mother tells me that you've been spending a lot of time in the kitchen" Patilinus said. Patilinus. Pat, like the sound bread made when Aelwyn tossed it, kneading it in the air. Only less pleasant.
My mother cleared her throat, I looked up long enough to see her piercing gaze, then resumed staring at my plate. "I peeled the potatoes" I blurted.
He skewered one on his fork, looking it over. "And a fine job you did" He almost sounded like my father- well, maybe not my father, but a father. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather learn to sew, or dance?"
"I like cooking," I said urgently
"Ettine" My mother warned.
I looked down at my plate again.
Patilinus smiled. "So long as you're happy"
After that I changed. I stopped acting out. I treated my mother and Patilinus with respect and civility, even if I couldn't muster genuine affection. I still spent most of my time in the kitchen with Aelwyn and Faenthil, helping prep and clean, but mostly fighting with Faenthil.
I began to attend lessons like Patilinus and my mother wanted; sewing, dancing, speaking, history, politics... I didn't enjoy them much, but after my lessons were over, I was free to spend time as I wanted.
That was until I turned fourteen. Then the suitors came. Most were about twice my age, overweight, with either no interest in a girl who barely had her first blood, or were uncomfortably keen. All posed under some pretext of having heard stories of my grace. They showered me in compliments and lavish gifts, telling me stories of their own wealth and achievements. While I didn't find myself wholly ugly, I knew the most attractive thing to these men was my family's wealth. I also knew that whoever my mother and step-father chose would have a comfortable living themselves.
My time was now spent meeting men, trying to find one that wasn't completely unbearable. It was a delicate balance. They needed to be in good political standing with the empire, as to not jeopardize my step-father's role on the Elder Council, but they couldn't be in good enough standing to possibly replace him. Wealthy enough to meet my mother's expectations, but not so wealthy that it made her look poor. Handsome enough not to make me vomit, but not so handsome that… well, perhaps that at least wasn't a problem. If only such a man existed among Cyrodiil's elite.
I returned to my room on one night, now sixteen and completely exhausted from a night of mingling, a night of polite smiles and pretending my suitors were smarter than me. I wanted nothing more than to rip of my restrictive dress and climb into bed. I had just finished with the first when I heard a noise.
I acted, more than anything, shouting and flailing, managing to hit the intruder in the face, before he had me in a headlock.
"Faenthil!" I shrieked, trying to struggle out of his grasp. "Faenthil I'm naked!"
He released me, looking me up and down. "Hardly. Is that what you nobles call small clothes? You know they're supposed to be small right?"
I blushed, suddenly aware of my body. Sure, I was still wearing a corset over the crisp white tunic and my petticoat did brush the tops of my ankles, but they still showed more than I wanted him to see. I was slim, 'like a lady should be' but I had definitely inherited some of the more… nordic aspects from my father.
"Just get out" I hissed, walking behind my privacy screen.
"No, cricket. You promised" his voice was mischievous. I felt something land on my head. A pair of soft leather breeches and a well-worn tunic.
"Fae… but I'm so tired"
"What did mum always say about your whining?"
I poked my head out from behind the screen just long enough to glare at my friend, but Aelwyn was still fresh in my mind. Faenthil appeared next to me, his arms around my shoulders, a lopsided grin decorating his angular face.
I pushed him out, slowly pulling on the breeches and tunic, followed by a pair of soft leather boots, trying my waist length hair into a tight bun before following him out the window.
"I'm no good at this" I moaned as I watched the arrow soar to the side, clear of the tree I was supposed to be aiming for.
Faenthil had set up targets on a quiet hill, just outside the city. It was a nice place, somewhere that we could sneak out to without being caught. Far enough to forget about the house with its politics and responsibilities, but still close enough to be back before even the servants rose.
"Well what are you going to eat when you run away from whatever fat sod you have to marry?" Faenthil said, adjusting my elbow. It was our favorite thing to pretend that I was the type of person to run away from a marriage. Perhaps he took it seriously, but I knew that I couldn't abandon my mother.
"Even if I did manage to shoot something I wouldn't know what to do with it."
"Let's focus on getting something for now."
"I'll never ever ever get better at this" I hissed, pulling the drawstring.
"I think this might help," he said gently, holding out an arrow.
I felt my face flush as I realized what I had done, glancing between his outstretched hand and my fully drawn, but somehow empty bow. "Faenthil you idiot!" I shrieked, flinging the bow aside and running at him.
"You were the one who did it!" he shouted over his shoulder as he fled. I caught him, tackling him to the ground, beating on his chest. We tousled in the soft grass for a while, before falling, breathless on the grass, staring up at the stars, breathing in the warm summer air.