Prologue: A Stolen Contract

Hello, friends. Here begins the next adventure. Hope you enjoy!

Freja was exhausted. This, however, was the last leg of the journey to Riften, and she couldn't give up now when she made it so far. She traveled for nearly a fortnight, only stopping to sleep at the random mills and taverns dotting Skyrim in exchange for hard labor or the little gold she could spare. It was late, but her eyes had adjusted to the darkness of her surroundings by now—there was nothing but thick woods, an occasional lake or stream, and a wild beast or two which never proved much of a challenge against her blade. The bitter wind whipped at Freja's face, and she clenched her jaw, tucking away the wisps of blonde hair that had escaped her long braid.

Since her escape at Helgen, Freja drifted from one place to the next, looking for ways to make a profit. She heard a rumor about a group of thieves living beneath the streets of Riften—a group offering gold and protection. Those were two things she needed desperately at the moment. For the most part, Freja had excellent luck, up until a month ago, when she was caught by the Imperials crossing Skyrim's border in an attempt to find her brother. They were separated nearly five years ago, and Freja had been searching for him ever since. She was getting close—hints and clues were beginning to add up, stories coming together—when she was captured with the jewels of a certain Altmer nobleman in her pocket, jewels she'd taken in order to pay her way across the border and beyond. Needless to say, things hadn't ended well. It turned out that he was a high ranking official in the Aldemeri Dominion, and since the Empire was currently eating out of the palm of the Dominion's hand, she faced the block. How she escaped was another tale entirely—but more on that another time.

If she'd only stayed away from that Aretino boy! She shivered, wrapping her bearskin furs around her body more tightly as the wind whipped snow into her face. Freja could see the entrance gate of Riften, and tried her best to distract herself with thoughts of the city—but they still drifted back to Windhelm. Why did I do it...

She'd heard rumors of a boy performing the Black Sacrament. It was a dangerous business, calling upon the Dark Brotherhood. From what she'd heard from the townsfolk, he hadn't met with any representative yet, but was desperate. Half of her brain told her it could be an opportunity to earn some gold, while the other half was simply curious about the boy. After all, everyone knew that the Dark Brotherhood was a shadow of its former self, in Skyrim as well as Cyrodiil. What could be the harm? From all that she'd heard, it seemed as though the Black Sacrament no longer worked; it was a silly ritual that fell on deaf ears.

She slipped into his home one afternoon to find him whispering the words of the sacrament as passionately as a prayer to the Nine. Without being able to stop herself, Freja snuck up on him, startled him with a tap on the shoulder and haughtily introduced herself as a murderer for the Dark Brotherhood. What ensued was madness. The boy, Aventus, wanted the mistress of the orphanage in Riften, Grelod the Kind, to be murdered. Apparently, the old woman was anything but kind—an old crone who mistreated the children at every turn. Freja accepted the commission, heading to Riften in the hopes of convincing this Grelod the Kind to retire from the orphanage so no blood had to be shed. She wasn't a murderer—usually. After all, the payment would be well earned either way.

But upon Freja's arrival in Riften for the first time, she found this task of getting Grelod to leave the orphanage difficult. Most of the children were asleep when she arrived, except for one young blonde girl, who was being beaten by the old woman with a broom. Freja was horrified and approached the old hag.

"Grelod, I presume? I have to ask you to stop immediat—" Her voice was light but serious. Before she could finish, the old woman turned on her, pushing the child to the ground as she approached.

"Who in Oblivion's name are you? And what are you doing here at this hour?"

Freja struggled for a story, but she was quick on her feet. "There've…been complaints about the way you run this place. I'm here to ask you to give up your position and retire peacefully." She offered a forced smile, crossing her arms and standing up tall. The little child behind Grelod's eyes widened, and she silently snuck through the nearest doorway. The fear in her face reminded Freja of her own youth. It gave her more reason to complete the task with success.

Grelod's eyes burned with fury. "Did Constance put you up to this? Finally grew a conscience enough to do something about it, eh? Well," Grelod barked, slapping the broomstick into her left hand, "I guess I'll have to give her what I give the children. A proper beating! But first, get out of my damn orphanage before I cut you up! You have three seconds!"

Freja was taken aback by the old woman's behavior, but decided she wouldn't leave until the hagraven gave up. "I'm sorry, Grelod, but I won't leave this place until you hand it over to someone else and resign yourself to a quiet—" Before she could finish, a fire rose in Grelod. A strangled cry escaped her throat, and she lunged at Freja, pulling a dagger from her side. In that moment, Freja resorted to instinct, reaching behind her to grab her Ebony bow and arrows. In one deft movement, she drew the arrow back and allowed it to fly full force into the chest of the old woman. Grelod shot backwards, and the room was silent.

Freja held her breath. Had she really just done it? Had she attacked the woman? But she was beating the child! Making threats! Coming after me! Freja thought of excuses, but her guilt was still heavy. She'd always walked a fine line with her actions, but murder was usually never an option.

Shaking herself out of the shock of the moment, Freja stood up straight and fastened her bow to her back. Taking a few steps forward, she looked down at the old woman's body. Her chest was unmoving; no breath entered or exited. She was dead. Blood was beginning to exit the wound. Hearing whispers, Freja looked up to see the girl from before in the room again, staring at Grelod's lifeless figure. Other children had joined her now, hearing the commotion. They huddled together, a look of wonderment crossing all their pale, young faces. Freja felt naked before them.

"Aventus really did it…" A young boy with dark hair said. "He really got the Dark Brotherhood to get rid of Grelod!" Hearing a murmur from a nearby room, Freja detected the soft voice of a young woman, asking the children what the ruckus was about. Freja knew in that moment that she either had to escape, or stand and face what she had done. She considered telling the truth and explaining that Grelod had become violent (it seemed believable enough). But Freja decided against the truth; as much as priests of the Nine Divines urged that living with truth was liberating, Freja found that it brought nothing but grief. Lies were so much more useful—and creative. Turning on her heel, she ran as fast as she could out the front door of Honorhall Orphanage and disappeared into the black of the night.

She left Riften that very night, and planned on never seeing the broken down city again. But then…things grew worse. She decided to spend a few days in the town of Riverwood after arriving from Riften. Freja wanted to lay low, to do some honest work and forget the gruesome scene in Honorhall. While walking along the dirt road in Riverwood, a breathless courier delivered her a note. She unfolded it, almost expecting good news, but her cheeks immediately drained of all color. On it, in black ink, was the imprint of a hand, and below, the words "we know." There was no doubt at its meaning. The Dark Brotherhood had caught wind of Freja's little incident, and they were displeased. She had stolen a murder from them, and no doubt they would demand flesh for the flesh she had taken. Freja barely believed it—after all, were the Dark Brotherhood operational in Skyrim? They were all but done across the continent. She greatly underestimated them. Stupid, stupid Freja, she thought to herself over and over again.

In that moment, panic washed over her, and she ran to her room in the inn. Freja would never forget how empty and cold she felt as she sat on her bed. Curled into a ball, she let the paper with their message of foreboding fall to the floor. It drifted quickly through the air in one direction, then another, like her thoughts. Would they come after her? Where could she run? Her mind fell back to Riften, and rumors she'd heard of the city. They would never suspect her to hide out in the very place where she'd committed the crime to begin with, at least not after so many weeks had passed—plus, they already knew of her presence in Riverwood, most likely. As far as she'd heard, Grelod's murder was unsolved, and since she was such an unpopular woman, the Jarl was slow to delve deeper into the incident. And there were whispers of a group of thieves living beneath the city…thieves who were all too well acquainted with darkness and shadow…thieves who could perhaps help her disappear from the threat of the Dark Brotherhood. The next morning, before the sun rose, Freja set out.

And all that had led her to this moment—to the gates of Riften. She pulled her hood up around her face to appear more intimidating. Everyone underestimated her, with her white-blonde hair and delicate features.

She approached the guard.

"Halt! Before I let you go in, you must pay a visitor's tax," the man bellowed in an accented voice. His face was round and pockmarked. The beginning of a smile pulled at the corner of Freja's lips, making her twitch delicately with a hint of anger. She hadn't even gotten into the city, and she could see once more the blatant corruption this place was infamous for.

"A visitor's tax?" Freja said smoothly, pulling her hood down to reveal her pretty face to the guard. He smiled devilishly, probably surprised to see such a small and delicate-looking woman. It was sometimes her vulnerability, but it could also be her strength. People let their guard down upon viewing Freja—her pink lips, milky skin and light blonde hair made her seem more like a priestess of Dibella than a thief…and now murderer.

He reached up to brush the hair from her cheek. "Well, aren't you a pretty one..."

Her voice suddenly became hard and darkened, and she grabbed his wrist in the flash of a second. "Touch me again and I'll skin you alive. Believe me…you wouldn't enjoy the feeling. The last one didn't." Her expression was very grave, and the guard pulled his hand quickly away from her.

"I don't want no trouble!" He cried.

"Good, then let me pass without paying. I promise I won't cause trouble in the city, and you can keep your skin as long as you forget you ever saw me." He nodded in compliance, turning aside to let her enter.

Coward, she thought. Now, to find the man who can help me. Shoulder-length hair, bright green eyes, always calling the ladies 'lass….' What was his name? She could hardly remember. But she would find him soon enough.