12th of Sun's Height, Sundas, 197 4E
“Hey you! Stop that!”
Another random Wood Elf screams this at me, while I do more target practice on a tree.
I send a fierce glare in his direction, and sigh in exasperation.
I have felt a little bit bad for all the nature I’ve been damaging these past few weeks, but it really isn’t that big of a deal. This place has enough trees as it is.
Nocking an arrow, I aim at a small branch, trying to perfect my accuracy.
I let the arrow fly, and it pierces straight through the bark, only a little bit above the intended target.
I sit down, resting my arms for a minute, and consider buying a new bow.
I can’t survive off of this stupid hunting bow forever. I probably need something more reliable.
I think back to Frey, and his suggestion of buying from that somewhat new merchant.
I remember that he had a couple of Elven bows. I might consider one of those.
Frey managed to get the Ebony bow though, so that isn’t available anymore . . .
Well, I can’t do much about it at the moment, so I might as well just keep working on my accuracy. Missing my intended target by just a little bit in a real battle could end up being a death sentence.
‘This is getting quite tiring though.’
I keep shooting arrows at the tree for a few more minutes, but quickly grow very bored.
‘Fine, I’ll go buy another stupid bow,’ I end up thinking.
I head back to the inn, grab a coin purse, and almost don’t notice that Mother and her sword are gone.
‘Well, her life isn’t mine, whatever.’
After leaving the inn, Frey sees me walking back towards the markets.
“Finally want a new bow?” he asks, with a smug look on his face.
“Yeah, sure, I can’t live off of a hunting bow,” I grumble back.
He shrugs, and wanders off to who knows where.
I continue along to the merchant, trying to ignore all the noisy Bosmer around me.
After finally reaching him, he greets me with a smile on his face.
“Hello, young traveler! Is there something I can help you with?”
He says this quite merrily, and starts to creep me out.
“I want an Elven bow.” I say this rather disgruntledly, unable to mask my dislike for this particular area.
The merchant hands one of them to me, and I pay him.
I quickly thank him, and dash back off towards the inn, due to the crowds starting to overwhelm me.
Wanting the satisfaction of running, I go a different route though.
I then once again pick up the chatter of some guards.
“I just saw her leave around fifteen minutes ago, why do you ask?”
I slow down, both to catch my breath and keep listening like the eavesdropper I am.
“She had a particularly infuriated look. Makes you wonder what problems a pretty lady like her would have, eh?”
I snicker.
“Hey, Bjorn, stop trying to get her attention. Haven’t you seen her face? She’s over seventy at least!”
‘Wait, what?’
‘She can’t be over seventy . . . At least, I think,’ I wonder confusedly, wondering what her actual age is. ‘No one has actually ever told me, but she still looks fairly young. I always thought she was in her fifties.’
“Fine. She’s probably going to leave soon anyway, just from what I’ve seen.”
‘Is everyone else an idiot? Or am I just extraodinarily unobservant?’
After deciding I’ve heard enough, I wander back to the inn, feeling very, very disgruntled.
‘Hmm . . .’
I quickly reach the inn, and find Frey snacking on some sort of meat just outside the entrance.
“Hey Freyja! Wanna try thi–”
“Do you know how old mother is?”
I randomly ask this, interrupting whatever Frey was going to say.
He looks confused, and deep in thought.
“No . . . why do you ask?”
“I just overheard a guard say she was over seventy.”
“Oh . . . hmm . . . I mean, we don’t actually know, so it might be true.”
He stops eating, and sits there, thinking intensely about something that never crossed our minds before.
“Honestly, we’ll only find out by asking.”
As if she knew she was being talked about, Mother came around a corner, startling both me and Frey.
She looks like she’s been in a pretty serious fight, due to the new burn mark along her arm, a bleeding scratch on her face, and her katana newly made of more blood than metal.
“Ysmir’s beard, Mother! Who did you kill this time?” I say this, genuinely wondering what happened to her.
“I killed an entire group of Thalmor. Don’t ask any more questions,” she says, looking exhausted, and as usual, sad. She starts to head inside the inn.
“Hey, I’ve still got questions!” I protest at her retreating back.
“Ask them in our room.”
“Fine,” I grumble.
Frey sends a worried glance after her, but then keeps chewing on the nearly forgotten meat.
I ignore him, and saunter after Mother, hoping to get some answers.
‘She usually doesn’t just randomly start committing, uhh . . . Thalmorcide, so why now?’
After making it up to my room, I see Mother sitting on the side of a bed, healing herself, and I immediately regret my choice of magic. Why did I have to choose Destruction?
She then looks up at me, with her now very sad face.
‘Why does she always look so sad, especially now? She’s in her homeland! She should be fine!’
“Well? What happened?” I ask.
“I told you. I saw some Thalmor, and killed them.”
“But why? The Thalmor are just arrogant fools. There isn’t anything wrong with them though . . . right?”
“They killed your father.”
Confusion whirls in my mind.
“What? No, you told me that he was killed by a sabre cat.”
She looks at me, tears brimming her amber eyes.
“No, you were only ten. I didn’t want to corrupt your mind. I thought it was for the best, but you need to know.”
Shock, anger, and confusion keep me from pressing further. Mostly.
“Tell me the whole story.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “Fine.”
“I’m one of the blades. I joined after Eirik was murdered by a small expedition of Thalmor.”
‘One of the whats?’
“I’ll tell you the whole story, but don’t come after me, no matter what happens. Please."
