6th of First Seed, 4E 195

"Tomorrow's First Planting," said Papa as we sat down for our evening family time. Mama and I had just finished cleaning up after dinner, and now we all sat around the fire, ready to unwind after a long day of tending our fields. Papa lit his pipe and took a deep breath in, blowing out a perfect smoke ring only seconds later.

Mama's knitting needles clacked together as she began working on yet another pair of socks. She had made Papa and me each three pairs already, and had insisted that we needed even more. She had said that if we were going to keep making tri-weekly treks to Windhelm and Kynesgrove, then we needed proper socks to keep our feet from blistering.

"What is First Planting again, Papa?" I asked, running my comb through my messy hair. I had forgotten to plait it when I got up that morning, and as a result, the wind had tangled it on my way into town and back. The struggles of having curly hair.

Papa blew another smoke ring before clearing his throat, a thoughtful look on his face. "Well, pup, First Planting is more than a day set aside for tending our crops. It's also a day where we, the people in Tamriel, set aside our past grievances and start anew. Like a plant budding after a harsh winter."

"So we're supposed to forgive our enemies?"

"We're always supposed to forgive our enemies, Ylva," said Mama, "but we are also to forgive any wrongdoing, no matter how severe, and no matter who has done the wrong."

Papa leaned forward in his chair. "Who's wronged you, Ylva?"

"The Shatter-Shield girls. They hate me."

Mama chuckled a little at my remark, and she set aside her knitting. "Dear, they don't hate you. They just don't understand what it's like to be you."

"Those girls have never known what it feels like to grow their own food," said Papa, then he added with a wink, "and they're probably jealous that we let you wear trousers."

I giggled and put my comb down. My hair was about as neat as it was going to get, outside of being washed. "Now I see. They're jealous."

"Exactly, pup. If anything, you should feel bad for those girls. They've always been handed whatever they wanted. They don't know the value of hard work, and they don't know how much pride comes from working with your hands, nurturing plants to fruition. And you know exactly what that's like." He pulled his amulet of Talos from underneath his tunic, letting it sit proudly on his chest. "Suppose it's time we pray and get ready for bed. Where's your amulet, pup?"

I pulled my own out, and so did Mama. As a family, we gathered around our shrine to Talos, and we bowed our heads. I clasped my amulet in one hand, and held Mama's hand in the other.

"Mighty Talos," said Papa in a low, reverential tone, "we praise you, even in these dark times. We thank you for your guiding hand, for your protection, and for your constant, unwavering care. We—"

A heavy fist pounded against our door, nearly shaking the walls. "Open up in the name of the Aldmeri Dominion!" said an authoritative voice from the other side.

We all jerked up. Mama held my hand tightly, fear in her eyes. "Tolvar, what do we do?" she whispered to Papa.

"Ylva, hide under your bed," said Papa, pointing towards my bed on the far side of the room. "Go, and no matter what you see or hear, don't come out."

Mama kissed my forehead, then let me go. I obeyed Papa and scurried under my bed, pressing myself against the wall as hard as I could.

Through the gap between my bed frame and the floor, I watched Papa stand up and walk to the door. He opened it, and several pairs of booted footsteps hurried inside.

A man in golden armor stalked towards Mama and grabbed her by her apron, yanking her to her feet.

"Where's your offspring?" asked one of the Thalmor invaders. "Where is she?"

"Staying with a friend," said Papa, his voice strained. "They wanted to celebrate First Planting together."

"We'll find her, but until then, you're both under arrest."

"On what charges?!" shrieked Mama. She kicked at the Thalmor still holding her upright. I had to jam my knuckles into my mouth to keep from screaming as the man holding her slammed her into the floor.

"Treason against the Empire by worshipping the false god Talos. You are heretics to the throne. We will be taking you to be interrogated and tried, where you will be found guilty and put to death."

I bit down on my knuckles until they bled. This could not be happening. I had to save them.

"Search the house!" screamed another of the Thalmor. "Find their brat!"

"She isn't here!" said Papa. Two of the Thalmor soldiers dragged him back into view, where they threw him down next to Mama. "We told you that!"

One of the soldiers, with a sick grin on his face, dropped to his knees behind Papa and yanked on his amulet's cord. My father started gasping for air and clawing at his neck. Next to him, Mama screamed and fought against the man holding her down. "Let my husband go!" she cried. "Leave us alone!"

"Sir, under that bed..." said the last Thalmor, this one a woman. "You don't suppose?"

My father's eyes bulged out of his head, and he stopped fighting with the man holding the cord to his neck. Instead, he wrenched his arm out and caught the one holding my mother in the face. He fell backwards, losing his grip on Mama, who then pounced on the one strangling Papa. "Run, Ylva!" they screamed. "RUN!"

I shot out from under the bed, dodging past the woman standing only feet away from the bed, and ran straight for the door. Thank the Divines I was not wearing a dress; if I had been, I would have tripped on the hem and would have been captured.

"Stop, you cur!" screamed the Thalmor behind me. I hopped over the gate and onto the main road, glancing over my shoulder at the man pursuing me. He was gaining on me, but he was also slipping on the cobbles. If he was losing his footing on a smooth surface, how good would he be at chasing me through the woods?

I veered right off the path, heading into the pine forest I once played in as a child. I bounded like a deer over roots and undergrowth, weaved around tree trunks, and dashed through creeks of freezing water.

I ran and I ran, faster and farther than I had even run in my life. My bare feet ached, my legs throbbed, and tears sealed my throat. But I had to keep running. I could not let that Altmer catch me.

After what felt like an eternity of running, I finally lost my pursuer. Either he had collapsed from exhaustion or had given up on catching me. Either way, he was gone.

I fell to the needle-littered forest floor, the tears once stuck in my throat now streaming down my face. I lay curled on my side, knees to my chest and hair sticking to my sweaty face. My trousers were ripped, my tunic was soaked with sweat, and my feet were bleeding. But none of that even measured up to what fate awaited my parents.

Those Thalmor were going to kill them. I could not stop them. I could not save my mama and papa. If only I had a sword. If only I knew how to fight. I could have saved them.

The sun was beginning to rise when I stood, no longer able to cry. I wiped my cheeks dry and headed back the way I had come, following a path I had made long ago, when I was not even ten winters old.

I stayed off the main road and stuck to the inside of the tree line. I was too afraid of encountering someone—a Thalmor agent, a farmer, or even Windhelm guards—to risk following the road back to my house.

It took me the better part of an hour to find my way back to my home. Taking the straight path back instead of zigzagging through the woods as I had done last night made it easier to return. I hopped over the fence on the back end of my steading and walked around the house to the front door.

The Thalmor had left it wide open.

I stepped inside, and I immediately fell to my knees. I had expected to find an empty home, ransacked for any money and shrine torn down. I had expected to find our table and beds smashed to splinters. I had expected to see dishes littering the floor and leftover food laying in crumbling piles all around.

But I had not expected to find my parents' bloodied bodies in the middle of it all.

The Thalmor had left them exactly where they had been when I made my escape. My father lay over my mother, his arms around her, as though his last act had been trying to protect her. Their throats were slit, deep, red smiles curving through their necks. Their amulets lay on the floor next to them, in two or three pieces. Behind them, the wooden shrine to Talos lay burning in the ashes of the fireplace.

At first, I only sobbed. I sobbed and rocked back and forth on my knees. As the time passed, my sobs crescendoed into wails of agony. Cries more animal than human ripped from my throat, my fists slamming against the stone floor. I had no more tears to cry. I had used all my tears last night. I wailed until I started dry-heaving. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to feel the bile burning my throat. I wanted to feel pain. Any pain, as long as it drowned out the anguish I felt in my chest.

After the worst of the retching had passed, I got to my feet. My legs wobbled, but I walked deeper into the chaos that was once my home. I rummaged through my chest of belongings, which the Thalmor seemed to have left alone. After shedding my torn tunic and leggings for a new set, I pulled out my satchel, my traveling cloak, and a change of clothes. I packed all three new pairs of socks and a scarf that Mama had made me for my last birthday. Lastly, I took my favorite blanket off my bed—a reminder of my childhood—and strapped it to the outside of my satchel.

I put on a pair of old socks and my boots, shouldering my satchel and moving across the house to the loft, where my parents slept. I took Papa's old steel sword off the wall above their bed, strapping the sheath to my belt and sliding the blade into it. It was a heavy weight I was not used to; it bounced against my leg with every stride, but I knew I would learn to ignore it eventually.

After packing what little food we had left in the house in my satchel, I piled up the remains of our furniture around my parents. I ripped through the mattresses and scattered the straw along the floor. Every piece of wood or kindling I could find, I piled around my parents.

I took what was left of my mattress and wrapped it around a chair leg. I stuck it into the smoldering ashes in the fireplace and held it there until it caught fire. I then stood beside the pile of wood and straw, throat tight and eyes burning with tears.

"May Sovngarde receive you, Tolvar and Aldia, and may Shor welcome you into his hall with open arms. May you find the rest that you never found on Nirn, and may the gods watch over you as you journey into the next life."

I laid the torch to the straw, and it caught instantly. I backed away and tossed the torch into the middle of the pile, watching as the fire spread through the kindling.

As the flames grew higher, I turned and left, cheeks damp and throat still tight. I walked over to the stable and saddled the yearling that had replaced our old mare at the beginning of this year. I had begged Papa to let me name him Snow, since his coat was white. With a laugh, Papa had said, "Then Snow it is."

I pushed that memory aside as I mounted Snow, urging him out of the stable and towards the road. By then, the fire had spread to the roof, burning through the thatch.

I looked back at the house, blinking back tears. "Goodbye, Mama and Papa. I hope I'll see you again in Sovngarde. I... I love you."

It was First Planting, a day that we were supposed to forgive those who had wronged us. All around Tamriel, there would be people shaking hands with their enemies and forgiving past grievances. Sharing drinks with those they once hated, laughing and joking with those they once despised.

I had fully expected to take part in today's celebrations. I had thought that I would march up to the Shatter-Shields' home and forgive their daughters for the wrongs they had done me.

But no. I would forgive them, yes, but I could not forgive all my enemies. How could I, when my newest enemies had taken everything I held most precious?

As warm tears slipped down my face, I kicked Snow in the side, and we galloped full-speed down the road, away from Windhelm, away from the flames, and towards the unknown.

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I consulted the Elder Scrolls Wiki for information on holidays such as the First Planting. There are quite a few on there, and I was very interested by them.

Side note: Ylva was born on the 18th of Morning Star, in the year 4E 180.

I was seriously saddened writing this. It was so hard to write, but I am satisfied with how it turned out. Hope that you all enjoyed! (Even though I am sure you want to strangle me for writing something so heart-wrenching.)

Until the next adventure! Love and sweetrolls!
~WG 💙