Chapter 4: Pursuit
Author's Note: This chapter has been incredibly frustrating to write. I've had numerous computer issues during the course of writing, and have lost my work on the chapter four times already. I'm not sure how long this chapter will turn out to be, or how short, but I want to let everyone know that the story is not dead with some sort of update.
4E 201, 10 Second Seed, 5 AM
Selene's legs and back ached from running. Thronir kept up a brutal, seemingly mad pace as he ran through the hills, leaping over obstacles in his path. They had been running for hours, following first the Karth River, then when the River Hjaal, deep into Hjaalmarch. The air was noticeably colder here, and Selene shivered involuntarily. "Thronir," she called out, "can't we take even a few hours rest?"
Thronir spun about, his eyes that of a madman, "What did you say? Rest? While the Thalmor are after us?" His voice was unusually strained, and spoke in a slight babble. "Oh of course, let's rest while they march, so that we can find ourselves prisoners on the 'morrow."
Selene was shocked. Thronir had never been so insulting as long as she had known him. They hadn't spoken since he had heard the world thalmor, despite Selene's best efforts. Now that they had, Selene wasn't sure she should have bothered at all.
Up ahead, Thronir stopped and turned around. "Hey, you're right, of course Selene. I'm just worried, that's all."
"How bad could these Thalmor actually be?" Selene had never seen Thronir upset by anything.
"Very bad," he replied. "I lived Valenwood during my youth, and I saw what the Dominion is capable of. I fled to Skyrim many years ago, to escape the Dominion. It seems no land is safe from them anymore."
Selene walked over to him, boots sinking in fresh snow as she did. She lightly touched his arm. "What happened Thronir? What did they do?"
The more they talked about the Thalmor, the darker Thronir's mood seemed to become. "What didn't they do," he spat bitterly. "Life means nothing to them, nature means nothing to them. They claim to be for the elves, well, they're really just for the Altmer." His eyes gazed into the distance as he remembered.
4E 132, 30 Rain's Hand
Fire. Smoke. The forest home of a family was burning to the ground, as Altmer soldiers watched, and laughed. The trees around were catching fire, but no one seemed to notice. The family tried to save what was left of the home, but all who went in were consumed by the flames. From a distance, a young elf boy watched, as his eyes burned with tears. He had been on his way home, home to a life that no longer existed...
4E 201, Second Seed, 6:12 AM
Thronir broke from his reverie, and turned to face Selene. "My family was killed, you know." His voice was unusually quiet, soft and fragile, like thin glass. "Our home caught fire mysteriously, and coincidentally my father was against the Dominion's influence in Valenwood. I hate every last one of them. And I will see them pay for their crimes."
Selene had never seen Thronir so vulnerable, and she pitied him. When he spoke of his family, she could see tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to break free. He had mastered them, but not without some effort, she could tell. "Thronir," she began, "I'm sorry, I didn't understand. We will make them pay, but first we have to get to somewhere with people who feel as we do."
Thronir straightened up, back in his commanding, but jovial persona. "Alright, it's time you knew. We're heading to Windhelm, not a friendly place for elves, but friendlier to us than the Thalmor. We may be able to find some help there, but if not, we can at least lay low for a time."
The pair began moving once more through the snow, trudging against winds that seemed to go straight through the layers of furs both wore, chilling them to the bone. Over mountains and plains they walked, avoiding the roads and populated areas. The never stayed in one spot for more than a few hours, constantly wary of their pursuers. They hunted as they went, traveling lightly so as to move more rapidly through the snow. They made excellent time in this fashion, arriving at the gates of Windhelm just 4 days after they had begun. If the Thalmor truly were following them, they were certainly far behind now, or so they thought.
4E 201, 14 Second Seed 8PM
A boot crunched in the snow, stepping on something buried beneath the layers of white powder. "Halt!", a voice cried out in the gloom. A hand reached down, and digging quickly, found a small dagger buried just below the surface of the snow. The dagger had inlaid markings on it, visible only to the finder's keen elven eyes. In darkness, the golden eyes glowed in triumph...
