Author's Note:

Dear all,

It's time for another backstory ;) Technically this one was revealed only in Book two, but there's no major spoilers in it to avoid in my opinion, so in case you haven't read Book two yet, the small passage that mentions this story will serve more as a short recap rather than a teaser ;) I thought it was more fitting to put this one in First Book Extras.

I'm being vague, but I'm pretty sure the title already says it all about the subject of this story :D Also I've been telling people that I'll write this one for ages :D

I hope you'll enjoy a little trip westward, across the Dragontail Mountains and the Alik'r Desert into the beautiful city of Sentinel (and yes, most people from Hammerfell I write about are from Sentinel. I just like that city :D )

Enjoy the read :3

Shifting Sands

Part I – The Spare

"Iman!"

Satakal's word, calm down, woman.

"Iman! Where have you run off to?"

"I am here, mother," Iman growled at her own reflection in the mirror, even though the words were directed somewhere else.

She couldn't help but loathe that reflection at that very moment. So pretty. So fancy. The bright-green lace dress, adorned with golden accents and jewelry, was marvelous. It was perfection. So was her long dark hair, coiffed into a beautiful updo. So was the subtle makeup on her dark skin, so were the golden sandals on her feet. Everything was just as it should have been. Just as it had been decided.

It was only the fact that she had no voice in any of these decisions that soured Iman to the sight.

Tonight was the night she was to meet her for the first time. That woman her parents decided was a perfect fit for her. And why wouldn't she be? She had status with the right people, connections where it counted. She was the one thing that would make the 'spare' useful to their house.

That was all she was. The spare after the heir. Her older brother was the firstborn – he was the one making the family proud left and right. Business relations, prospective wife from a good family and a child already on the way. He always excelled – in his studies, when he took over the family trade, when he was supposed to represent in public.

She, on the other hand, was more interested in spending time in tobacco dens filled with artists and dissidents, brave enough to express themselves against the powers that be. At first, when one of her friends began inviting her to such places, she worried immensely. She was a noble – it oozed from every fiber of her being after all. They would not take kindly to her in such places. But she was too intrigued to resist seeing a new part of Sentinel, one hidden from the surface view and glitz and glitter of the golden domes and silk drapes above.

Much to her surprise though, she wasn't the only noble with the craving for something unusual. There were plenty of them already there, enjoying the artistic and unconventional world beneath. She felt at ease there. She felt inspired and empowered, hearing all those people speak their mind and express themselves however they wished. The things she could never do.

But of course, her lifestyle was not to her family's liking. She was supposed to follow in her brother's footsteps – she was supposed to be there, just in case, spend her life as his shadow, wallowing in spite and hatred, hoping that something tragic would befall him just so that she could take her rightful place.

But that was never what she wanted. The last thing she did was envy her brother. He was caged. He was chained. Their younger siblings had more freedom in their choices, but not him. And not her. Despite her 'rebellions' there were still those expectations looming over her.

And so, her parents intervened. To remind her of her place.

They selected someone to make her toe the line. An arranged marriage – the trump card of all the Hammerfell nobles. They would chain Iman again, just somewhere else. Have someone else do it.

Iman was told nothing.

She had no idea who this woman was supposed to be. She had no idea what her name was, what house she was from or what she did for a living, if anything. She just knew that the woman was her age and that an alliance with her, meaning marriage, would bring her family even more prestige, more fortune.

That was to be her fate. No more tobacco dens, no more art and new experiences, no more freedom.

But Iman was still a little hopeful.

As much as dread filled her at the thought of this day, she knew something that her parents did not. She knew how many 'people her age', how many 'prospective nobles' were actually much more intriguing behind closed doors. How many of them were just as sick of the traditions and the gilded cages?

Who knew? Maybe this woman would be just like her. Maybe she would be an actual partner.

The last thing Iman would do was to give up and lose hope.

She was still willing to give this a chance, despite the bad feeling accumulating in her gut.

She checked her own reflection in the mirror once more. It all seemed fake, but maybe it was what it needed to be for now. She would do as she was told, she would be civil and graceful and she would keep her opinions to herself. Hopefully she would get a chance to speak to her 'betrothed' privately throughout the evening.

The door to her chambers swung open and her mother entered at last. It did take a while to walk through the mansion.

Her mother was the picture of perfection as well, all ready for the quickly approaching dinner. Then again, she always looked perfect. Always neatly coiffed, dressed in the most expensive gowns one could find, adorned with gems and gold. Anything to show off her status.

She stepped behind Iman, studying her with a critical crease between her brows. Here we go. Something would be wrong. Something was always wrong.

"Those earrings?" Was it even possible that her scowl deepened?

"You told me to wear them," Iman let out an annoyed sigh. As if her mother would leave anything to chance tonight. She had to decide everything.

"I had assumed that you would have the grace to pull them off," the woman scoffed as she took one of the earrings between her fingers – three golden chains, each a different length, with a cut emerald adorning the ends. "But I suppose they will have to do."

"Are you certain, mother? Perhaps we should cancel. An earring emergency," Iman scoffed. In all honesty, any noble would likely take that in stride.

"Did you get that out of your system?" her mother was still frowning. "Because I will not tolerate this attitude of yours when our guests arrive."

"Yes, mother," she gritted her teeth. One chance. One chance for that woman to turn out to be a pleasant surprise that will shut her parents up for good. And if not, Iman would have to find a way to get out of this arrangement.

"Good. The dress is crumpled a bit at the hip. Make sure it's not that way when you come and greet them. They'll be arriving soon. Everything should be impeccable when the Aedaeres see you for the first time."

Iman absentmindedly straightened the crumpled dress at her hip, still watching herself in the mirror, particularly the earrings dangling along her bare neck. Only a few more moments. Her mother turned away from her and marched out of the room, possibly to double check that there was no spot left unclean in their foyer.

It was only after the doors to her chambers closed when she realized what her mother had said.

"Wait. The 'Aedaeres'?" Iman's eyes went wide at her own reflection. Her mother had shared nothing about her intended. Not even the family name.

She may have never heard this one before, but it mattered little. Even the telling sounds filled her with even more unease.

This family was certainly not from Hammerfell.

…

"Are they Thalmor?" Iman hissed at her mother as they waited in the foyer. The doors were already opened and a few servants rushed in before the actual guests would make their grand entrance.

"No. And what does it matter? They are nobles. Influential," her mother scoffed quietly back at her.

The whole family was there. Her four brothers, the wife of her older one, and her two younger sisters. Her father and mother were standing in the front, alongside her, while the rest of the family waited a little further back, all of them styled to perfection and the ultimate grace. Of course, Iman was the main attraction they came to see, but the guests needed to make sure the entire family was of good stock.

"But they're Altmer, aren't they?" Iman hissed again. Thalmor or not, everything was much clearer now.

"Yes, why? Did your 'friends' spew more venom at you, this time about elves? Stop it and be quiet," her mother gripped her wrist briefly and dug her long nails in to punctuate the point. It was time to stand quietly and wait to see the new arrivals.

To be fair, her mother wasn't exactly wrong.

Iman had no problems with elves, but an Altmer noble house, whether from the Isles or from Hammerfell, she knew what it meant. They may not have been Thalmor themselves, but they were certainly their supporters. There was no way they would be 'influential' in Hammerfell otherwise.

Before Iman breached her new world beneath Sentinel, she had no idea about the true political machinations going on in the city. In all of Hammerfell.

They were all taught stories. She was taught one from a young age. The elves, the Thalmor, they were there to help bring prosperity because of treaties and alliances made after the wars she was too young to remember properly. They were there to bring magic and to trade and to teach.

They did look quite menacing to her in their black robes and with their noses up high. But she had been taught not to be afraid of them, to accept their presence with open arms, as one would with an ally.

That was before.

Since then, she had heard so many horror stories. About suppression of freedom, speech, religion. About how the Hammerfell forces managed to drive the Thalmor back right after they seceded from the Empire, refusing their Concordat. How the Thalmor were supposed to withdraw forever, but those in power still couldn't part with their wealth and trade. Wealth. It was everything in Hammerfell. There was no freedom, no morals, not when it came to gold. And so, gradually, the Thalmor were invited back, given more and more power, even if it was not 'official'. It never mattered. They played their pretend games, played the guests, but in reality, they did whatever they wanted. They indoctrinated people, they spread their vile opinions, they dealt with the people they found 'undesirable'.

No wars mattered.

Only gold did.

It took mere seconds before the servants stepped by the doors and the long awaited guests finally arrived.

They were no less numerous – what else was there for nobility to do than breed after all. Maybe it was more fun that way to have plenty of contestants battling for inheritance. Six Altmer entered – two clearly older ones, the matriarch and the patriarch of the house, clearly, accompanying their daughter. And behind them, the rest of the spares traipsed, trying to look important as well.

The daughter.

Iman's mother said that she was 'her age'. She had wrinkles around her eyes, subtle ones, hidden with makeup, but they were there. She was an elf. The woman must have been at least a hundred years old to have those! In which part of Nirn was that considered the same age as the daughter in her twenties?

The woman was somewhat pretty. She certainly tried hard to appear as such, but her expression was unpleasant. Maybe Iman was just already projecting. She shouldn't judge right away. There was still a chance, dwindling as it was. Maybe the daughter despised the Thalmor as well, maybe she also had more interest in… freedom. Anything was possible.

She was dressed in a pearly gown, accentuating her golden skin, and she was adorned with even more jewels than Iman was. That was to be expected, of course – the rest of the family looked the same. Everyone needed to make their status known.

The three stopped right in front of the other trio. Both pairs of parents first regarded the daughters with critical eyes before anyone even spoke.

Iman just felt like some cattle waiting to be purchased at the market. She couldn't even concentrate on her own scrutiny of her intended wife. She had to give all her energy to standing straight and not squirming under their gazes. A soft smile continued to grace her lips, but she only felt like screaming just then.

"She is… acceptable," the father of the Aedaere house nodded at last, breaking the excruciating silence. Now Iman really felt like a cow being appraised.

The Altmer daughter only nodded in accord. Well, apparently, Iman was 'acceptable'. What a compliment. She wasn't really sure if she could return the sentiment.

"Good," Iman's father smiled a bit. He only ever smiled at strangers, never at his family. At least Iman had never seen it. "Your daughter is very lovely. I'm sure we'll be able to come into an agreement."

"Quite," the Altmer father extended his hand to him to shake it. "This is our daughter Mirnye," he looked at Iman as if he was addressing a person for a change, waiting for her reaction.

Iman extended her hand towards her intended with a polite smile. "Iman. A pleasure to meet you at last," she was pretty sure that her teeth remained gritted, but hopefully nobody noticed. Mirnye shook her hand with the same polite smile. Iman couldn't help but wonder whether she felt the same.

"Now, let us leave the rest of the introductions for the dinner table," Iman's mother piped up. "If you would follow me, please."

The large group began to walk just as her mother ushered them, towards the lavish dining room.

Iman could feel the horrible tension in the air, no matter how much she still wished to cling to hope, she couldn't help the feelings accumulating inside her.

This was just getting worse each second.

…

Iman sat by the large table, opposite her intended bride.

The whole dinner had been so uncomfortable. She still felt so scrutinized. Everyone was watching what she ate, how she ate it, whether she had too much. While her younger brother was stuffing his face like a camel slurping water in the middle of the desert, with food flying all around him, everyone's eyes were still on Iman, concentrating on whether she would embarrass her family on this momentous day.

After all, she had to eat like a lady, didn't she? She had to take small bites, always cut up everything to the tiniest bits and never eat more than a half of what was on her plate – a good lady should be stuffed after a few bites – she should watch her figure. She sorely reminisced all throughout about that one time in the secret bar beneath the Bazaar, when she smoked those strange herbs from Morrowind with her friends and then ate more candied scorpions than she had even seen in her life. That was the life. The freedom she craved.

It was a little encouraging that her bride-to-be had to follow the same rules. Iman liked to imagine that the woman loathed them just as much as she did, that she also wanted to inhale the whole plate and then lick it clean, for no other reason that she could. And nobody would tell her she was acting inappropriately.

But somehow, Iman felt like her intended was scrutinizing her dining habits as well.

Maybe she's really looking for a hint of doubt and defiance. Like I am. Maybe.

She could still hope. What else was left there for her to do?

She just hoped that this dreary family affair would give them at least one opportunity to be alone. Fine, she was older, she was Altmer, she looked unpleasant, but first glances could fool anyone. None of this looked good for Iman, but she refused to write the woman off entirely. It was her desperate attempt to cling onto the life she couldn't bear to lose.

"Iman," a voice hissed at her from her side and she almost dropped her golden spoon with a bit of scuttle fondue scooped on it. It was her mother, of course. Who else would sound so venomous when merely whispering? "Sit up straighter. You're slouching like some common laundry wench."

Iman straightened her back begrudgingly, even though she was convinced she wasn't even slouching. Her mother did that. A lot. She could probably spend hours upon hours just scrutinizing every little detail about Iman until she found the one tiny flaw she could chastise her about. Iman was pretty sure she had never heard a compliment from her her entire life.

But she was used to that. Like she was used to everything else. She could take that, as long as she had her opportunities to escape. But those were being threatened unpleasantly right now. She just wanted to get to know this Mirnye. Was that really too much to ask?

Her mother, unfortunately, seemed to notice Mirnye watching their exchange and she quickly started to chuckle nervously.

"Ah, don't mind that, my lady. Iman is still young and she sometimes… forgets herself."

Satakal's word, mother, really?

"That is quite alright," Mirnye nodded with a stony expression on her face. Gods, Iman couldn't tell at all what her bride was thinking. This was so frustrating. She just wanted to see what kind of person she was.

"So… Mirnye," Iman started, while their fathers were busy discussing the political situation on Stros M'kai. "I was wondering if you enjoy music."

"Oh, for Ruptga's sake, Iman, why ask such frivolous things?" Her mother exclaimed instead in indignation. "And it's Lady Aedaere for you until she makes your personal acquaintance. Have I taught you nothing? Such as never to interrupt when someone else is speaking?!" she inclined her head towards the two men at the head of the table who suddenly stopped in their debate.

"You're the one who interrupted them with your yelling, mother," Iman scoffed disdainfully. She couldn't help it. "I was only speaking quietly to my future bride. Am I not allowed to get to know her now? Just because someone else is currently talking at the other side of the room?"

"Iman!" her father's voice boomed across the room suddenly, startling everyone else. Even the youngest brother stopped stuffing his face for a brief while.

"I'm sorry, father," Iman sighed. There was no arguing worth this scene. They would just make this worse and worse. She would make this worse and worse. "I apologize, everyone. I think… it may be the qishr making me… too energetic. I shall… put it aside." This sucked. She loved qishr, it was her favorite coffee drink and she often had it with dinner, but she knew her parents would require an apology and some excuse from her. Even if she had nothing to apologize for.

"Yes, this is our fault," her mother sighed. Liar. She didn't believe that for a second. "We really should watch her more and don't allow her anything too spicy."

Yes, of course, treat me like a child more. That's what I need. Not freedom from this oppression.

"Uhm… that is… quite alright," Lord Aedaere nodded uncertainly. He seemed startled at the whole scene. And who wouldn't be? If it weren't for Iman's mother, it would be a completely harmless and ordinary conversation, but she always had to find something to yell at Iman about, no matter where and when. How could anyone want to be part of their family after such a scene? Then again, it would be for the best. She would really appreciate it if the Aedaeres canceled this whole deal. But then her parents would just pick someone else. It was pointless.

If only she had any other options left.

Mirnye didn't seem that fazed by anything that was happening. She still sat by the table, playing with her own fondue without eating anything and watching Iman with some measure of interested indifference. And odd look. Iman really had no idea what she should think. Maybe there could be a tour of the house after dinner. Maybe she could steal Mirnye away for a spell.

Iman waited impatiently for a lull in the conversation, so as to not interrupt anyone, and when the moment came, she eagerly suggested her plan.

"Mother, perhaps we should show the Aedaeres around after dinner. So that they can see the estate." Her mother loved to show off the estate.

Her mother seemed like she wanted to yell at Iman, to desperately find something wrong with what she said or did, but it was clear that she seemed intrigued by the idea.

"Why, what a splendid idea I just had," her mother marveled. "I should definitely show you our back garden. And the upstairs as well, we had one of our salons just redecorated."

Yes, what a wonderful idea you had, mother.

Iman suppressed the urge to roll her eyes as she pushed her fondue away again. Almost half of it was eaten after all; even if she really just wanted to continue eating and then eat everyone else's too. Was there any chance her parents would marry her to a cook instead of a noble? She could eat all she liked then.

The men at the head of the table started talking again and there was not much Iman could do but wait for the dinner to end. She couldn't interrupt again, could she? Perish the thought.

At least the house tour plan went off without a hitch. She could finally steal away her fiancée.

She hoped so at least.

…

Iman almost forgot how boring her mother could make a simple house tour.

She kept blabbering about every object, every vase and every sculpture, about the relatives they inherited these from and what Era this and that was from. It was like a history lecture, except it was the history of completely unimportant and inconsequential things.

When they were only two chambers in at the upper floor, after the extensive tour of the back gardens, Iman decided to seize the opportunity and get Mirnye away from the family crowds.

"Lady Aedaere," Iman whispered when she positioned herself near the woman. "There is something I wished to show you in the previous room. I think you might find it interesting."

"Really?" Mirnye scoffed. "And here I thought there wasn't a single item that your mother left un-described."

Heh, was that sarcasm? That was pretty funny.

"I know a few secrets," Iman winked slyly and she promptly tried to extract herself from the crowd. Much to her joy, Mirnye followed.

This was looking good. She hoped so, at least. Maybe both women would be able to dispose of their masks now when they would be alone at last.

Iman led Mirnye to the previous room and she closed the door behind them promptly, eager to see what really awaited her at last.

"What did you wish to show me?" Mirnye looked at her in surprise when Iman didn't start looking for anything.

"Nothing, really. I just… wanted some privacy. I wished to get to know you without… so many people around," Iman smiled a bit. She tried to sound kind and warm, even though she was wrecked with nerves. But she also found this all very exciting. Like she was on a secret mission.

"Do you make it a habit of escaping your social obligations?" Mirnye smirked at her. Was it just Iman's imagination, or did the woman seem intrigued by that?

"Maybe," Iman chuckled lightly. "It is much more fun that way, don't you think?"

Mirnye observed her curiously for a while. It almost made Iman uncomfortable, but she was glad for the intrigue she had raised in the woman. It could only be a good sign, surely.

"No," Mirnye suddenly shook her head, though the curious look still remained on her face. "I don't think so. I do think it will be interesting to see if I can teach you proper manners before the wedding. From what I've seen so far, it will be a lot of work yet. But after all my siblings' pets that the servants have managed to housebreak, I'm still somewhat confident that it will be doable."

Iman was left staring with her mouth ajar.

What?

Was this really happening? No, she was joking, wasn't she? She would start laughing any second now. Iman was not going to go to an even worse prison that she had been in up until now.

"Maybe this passes for good manners among your barbaric society, but among the Altmer nobility and Thalmor diplomats, you'd be a laughing stock. And I will not have my wife humiliate me in front of anyone influential. You can humiliate yourself in front of your family all you like, but this behavior ends at this threshold," Mirnye raised her head in indignation with a firm 'hmph' at the end to emphasize the point.

This… this wasn't a joke.

She really intended to try to 'housebreak' Iman to parade her in front of nobles and Thalmor as nothing but a convenient trophy wife. Why would she even want to marry her?! Why would her family want Iman's barbaric family as part of theirs? She still had no idea what was in it for them.

"Why…" Iman could only speak very hoarsely as she had trouble getting any words out. "Why marry me?"

"I need to marry one of you people, of course. To secure my father a good position on the High King's council. The king is awfully racist and he doesn't appreciate those without any… traditional relations at least at his side. It's a small price to pay. At least you are aesthetically pleasing, if I improve your wardrobe and jewelry choice some. So much work. It better be worth it."

Iman just wanted to scream at that moment. She wanted to grab the nearest vase and smash it over this bitch's head.

This was what her parents wanted for her? To spend the rest of her life in these chains?

That was not going to happen. She was not going to let that happen.

Not in a million Eras would she continue to be their obedient daughter while they plotted the downfall of all she treasured in life. This bitch would never let her frequent the places she loved, never let her enjoy the underground Sentinel ever again. Never let her do anything she really wanted to.

And the idea of letting this horrid woman touch Iman was suddenly equally repulsive.

"We… we should go back…" Iman's words left a bitter taste in her throat. The last thing she wanted now was to be alone with this woman ever again.

She had to do something.

Another Author's Note:

In case any of you wish to remind yourself of Saadia's (Iman's) story, most of it is in the first book chapter 113 (CXIII) In Her Time of Need, and, as I've previously mentioned, in the second book in chapter 38 (XXXVIII) The Colors.

Other than that, I hope you enjoyed the first part of this side story. The second one will be published soon. :)