Chapter One: Cataclysmic Catalyst

Arietta Belaire, the esteemed and beloved daughter of Lady Violetta Belaire, was a perfectly normal Breton. Raised to be the epitome of Cyrodilic nobility, her manners were impeccable, her clothes elegant and fashionable, and the education she possessed rivaled that of the highest echelons of Magi. Well, perhaps she was slightly more 'perfect' than 'normal.' She had no shortage of suitors, after all. With a sparkling smile, flawless ebony hair, and lively green eyes, she had charmed her way into the hearts of the Imperial City's residents. And if all that wasn't enough, her grace and kindness were renowned – she was often seen making charity runs among the beggars, asking nothing in return, as she gave all she could spare – much to the gentle chagrin of her mother, but in the eyes of the townsfolk, there was no brighter spirit in all Tamriel.

Which made it rather shocking when she was publicly arrested on the day of her much-awaited debutante ball.

"Little Arietta? A felon?" cried the people. "Surely not!" No one could believe it, and as the trial ran on, the rumors ran wild. "Dirty money," said some. "A misunderstanding," said the more hopeful. From speculations of fraud came those of theft, and soon half the city was convinced Arietta had been the infamous Gray Fox all along - the evidence for which was insubstantial at best, of course. However, as time ticked on, and day bled into night, confusion grew to near hysteria as a squad of guardsmen arrived to shoo the crowd away.

Amidst the clanking armor and clamoring townsfolk, there was one voice that rose above the din. "What have you done?!" demanded a rather shrill-sounding woman. "What have you done to my daughter?" A disheveled Violetta Belaire clawed her way through the crowd, a circle forming around the noble as she confronted the guards. An eerie silence spread as they took in the magnitude of her distress. Tasteful makeup smudged, intricate tresses frayed, the famously composed Lady Belaire was a sight to see indeed. "Where is Arietta?!"

The guards regarded her dispassionately. All was deadly quiet as the standoff ensued until one of the kinder guards – or perhaps, the braver, considering the woman's obvious rage – deigned to answer. "We're not at liberty to say, ma'am."

"And why not? I am her mother, Ser Knight – I order you to tell me what you have done!"

"Apologies, my lady. I didn't realize. Still, nothing can be disclosed until the trial has concluded."

"And when will that be? Arietta has been missing for hours, and no one will even speak of the crimes of which she has been accused. What am I supposed to expect?"

"Please, my lady, calm yourself. You must wait. I cannot – "

Violetta cut over the man, her musical voice sharpened with vitriol. "My daughter comes to me, shaking and scared out of her mind, and no sooner does she enter the room than a battalion of guards knocks down my door and storms our home! My darling Arietta dragged out in chains! And you have the audacity to tell me to 'calm down?'"

As the man drew breath to reply, whatever platitudes he had to offer were drowned out by the collective gasp of the crowd. The moment had come, marked by the marching of armored feet and jangling metal.

The doors to the council chambers had opened. In the archway stood a great number of soldiers, all clad in the unmistakable white uniform of the Palace Guard, with a single figure towering above the others. High Chancellor Ocato. The Altmer paused, his expression inscrutable as he met the gaze of the Belaire family matriarch. To her credit, she did not falter, though her chin trembled as Ocato slowly shook his head.

Solemnly, he began to speak. "Tragedy has befallen us on this day, my friends. A day for celebration has been marred by senseless violence. I know many of you have questions, and rightly so. You must be confused, and in the case of some, angry. Let it be known that I take no pleasure in this announcement." Ever so slightly, his shoulders sank as he continued. "Mistress Belaire was taken into custody as we investigated the death of one of our guardsmen." Whispers broke out among the crowd. "Her trial has now ended."

"It is to my great sorrow that I must reveal she had been found guilty. Arietta Belaire is hereby stripped of her title and namesake, and has been sentenced to life in prison for the murder of Guard-Captain Audens Avidius."

The crowd erupted into fury and disbelief, but there was not a sound from poor Violetta, not as she opened her mouth to protest, not as she fell to the ground in anguish, not as tears fell unbidden, streaking down her cheeks. Her daughter was gone.

oOo

Arietta, formerly of the Belaire family, was many things. She was talented, resourceful, and, currently, fettered head to toe with anti-magicka chains. Which was rather inconvenient. She was also, though she refused to show it, terrified. It seemed impossible that a few short hours before, she had been fantasizing of her Prince Charming, dreaming of the dashing suitor who would sweep her off her feet during her formal debut into noble society. Childish hopes, perhaps – notions of true love and adventure. But it hardly mattered now.

Her whole life before this point seemed the dream at this point, faced with the cold reality of hard stone walls and threatening glares. With the blood on her hands. It was an accident, she told herself, it was self-defense. But no one would believe her. Nines, she wouldn't, were she in their place. She closed her eyes as the images of her crimes assaulted her – a cruel smile, gauntlets digging into my arms – hurting me. Flames, lightning, flashing, burning! No, I don't want to remember, I don't want to see -!

"Eyes forward, Breton. You can't magic your way out of this one." Her captor shoved her roughly, the chill of steel at her neck. "Keep walking."

Devoid of any other choices, but determined to hold her head high, Arietta forced her mind back into the present, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other. It seemed an eternity before they reached their destination – an endless labyrinth of dark hallways and iron bars designed to confuse its inhabitants, but she refused to cower. Even as she walked past prisoners – her kinsman now, she supposed – with beady eyes and lecherous grins; as guards and criminals alike hurled invectives at her from every angle. Her façade remained as the cell door was wrenched open before her. She stood strong as her manacles were removed - save for the enchanted bands around her wrists, designed to stifle her magicka. The guard gave her one final push into the depths of the cell, locking the bars behind her with a resounding clang. She would endure. She had to.

And then she was alone.

Or at least, so she thought. As the sound of the guard's steps faded into silence, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness and a low, silky laugh echoed through the air. Arietta squinted to make out a pair of glinting violet eyes.

"Pale skin, snotty expression. You're a Breton! And from the looks of it, a noble one, too. How unexpected." The figure scoffed. "You're nothing but a stuck-up harlot with cheap parlor tricks. Go ahead, try your magicka in here. Let's see you make those bars disappear. No? What's the matter? Not so high and mighty now, are you?" Arietta summoned her haughtiest sneer and attempted to force the man into silence through sheer will. It didn't work.

"You know, they only let the worst of the worst this far into the prison. We're the ones that will never leave – not until they get tired of you and throw your body in the lake. And from what I've heard, a criminal like you…"

Arietta glared at the man. "Like me?" Her voice was hoarse with emotion, betraying the stony mask she had wrapped around herself. She struggled to school it back into neutrality.

"You're the guardkiller, right? Surprising that a wretch like you could have managed it, but you're the talk of the block, nonetheless. Got a line of admirers on your first day! Almost… impressive, one might say. Congratulations."

"Thanks. Now shut up."

The man – a Dunmer, from the looks of it – placed a hand to his chest in mock outrage. "Why, I never! Such harsh words from such a lovely face. I came to offer an alliance, of sorts – but I wouldn't want to waste my time with the likes of you." He laughed. "The name's Valen. Valen Dreth. I'm the power here. I expect you to remember that."

Now it was Arietta's turn to scoff. "I really couldn't care less."

The elf – Valen – made a small noise of disappointment, shaking his head. "How… unfortunate. For you, that is. You see, guardkillers don't last very long down here. They tend to disappear, if you catch my meaning. Turn up dead a few days later, and the guards can never manage to find their murderer! Imagine that."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Can I not offer my assistance? Maybe I just want to be friends, miss...?" He trailed off, a question in his tone.

"Piss off." Arietta muttered, hoping still that her terseness would stop the man's needling.

Valen only smirked, his expression predatory. "Or perhaps, I could offer my services in exchange for your lovely company?" The slight emphasis placed on the word 'company' had Arietta's lips curling in disgust. "I have friends in the Watch, with the right incentive, I can keep them away from you. For a time at least."

"Not a chance, Dreth."

"Ah. Well. No great loss on my part, but for you… Just don't get too comfortable. You've earned yourself a one-day life sentence, better enjoy it while it lasts! Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming – for you!" The elf devolved into sinister laughter, retreating into the shadows of his cell.

Try as she might, Arietta couldn't pretend the man's words hadn't shaken her. She had hoped for more time, a chance to escape, but even without elven hearing, she could make out the sound of armored boots approaching quickly. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest as she began to pace desperately. The window, maybe? No, the bars are too strong. The door? A quick rattle of the bars revealed the same anti-magicka wards from her restraints. Damn. I need more time, I need to-

A woman's voice interrupted her thoughts. "…rus, lock that door behind us!"

No.

"Yes ma'am," came a man's reply.

Arietta backed away from the door, her back pressed against the damp stone wall. What little composure she had left started to bleed away. I don't want to die. I don't belong here! I'm not a – a! Tears clouded her vision as the voices drew closer, indistinct, until…

"My sons - they're dead, aren't they?" Wait, what? That didn't seem like a vengeful guard. The man was well-spoken, his accent refined. He sounded… sad.

"We don't know that, Sire," said the woman. Sire? Who was she talking to? "The messenger only said they were attacked."

"No, they're dead. I know it."

Three heavily armored figures entered the hall by her cell. Their uniform was unlike any Arietta had ever seen – sleek, dark and deadly looking. Not normal guards. Then the fourth came into view and sent her mind into further disarray. Fine robes. Long, silver hair glimmering in the torchlight. Piercing grey eyes. And, most notably, the huge ruby amulet adorning the man's neck. There was only one man who possessed such an item, but that was impossible. He couldn't be here. There was no way the man was really -

"Your Majesty, over here."

- The Emperor of Tamriel.

What in Oblivion was happening?

The sharp voice of the female guard – a Blade, Arietta realized – rang out, "What's this prisoner doing down here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!"

Her companion spluttered, voice tight with fear, "Usual mix up with the watch, I-I…"

"Never mind, we don't have time for this. Someone get that gate open. And you, prisoner – stand back! We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way."

They were unlocking her cell. Why were they unlocking her cell? Arietta stood in shock as the blasted Emperor of Tamriel entered the dingy room. They spoke of secret passages, assassins and were obviously fleeing from something. She barely registered it as the taller Blade threatened her, too focused on the elderly man before her. His eyes met hers, a flash of startled recognition lancing through them.

"You… I've seen you. Let me see your face."