Author's notes: Oblivion and all its characters, places, events, etcetera are property of Bethesda Softworks. Special thanks to my beta, Pheonicia, who cleans up my grammar errors and typos. This is just a little slow to get started.

--A--

Chapter One

--A--

Ugh. What. The. Hell?

Waking up was unpleasant to say the least. My head's ringing like a chapel bell, and hurts like someone was kicking me in it – oh, wait. That might actually explain a couple things…whoo. Ugh...maybe I was out of line to tell that dumb Orc what he could do with his attitude. It didn't seem like such a bad idea at the time. Going into a bar fight without backup (or my Silent Partner) is now a bad idea. Note to self: be prepared, next time, otherwise you end up in a hurt-box.

Urgh…I rolled over but did not roll out of bed – I rolled harmlessly off the pallet upon which I lay onto the floor proper. Now I know how runaway grapes feel.

Mmm…eh? So I'm not home, or at one of the guildhalls then…so no mom, brother, or extended family's going to come yell at me anytime soon. I groaned and opened my eyes. Ugh. From where I sprawled I immediately realized where I was, and got up quickly. I was in prison.

Not jail.

Fetching prison. There's a big difference…oh foo…I'm never going to hear the end of it. If I ever see that Orc again, I'm going to...think really hard before I threaten to drop him like a rock and wail on him.

This is why I need to remember never to put my Silent Partner down – people just don't take me seriously as a fighter without it.

Oooh...my head hurts. Ow. Ugh, forget it. Let me just call it a day...

But prison? Come on…just a few drinks and a brawl...it was only a little one! What's the world coming to? It's my first…okay, second official offense. What happened to three strikes?

I mean, the first involved half the tavern, all my brothers and my dad – so it wasn't really my fault…

Yeah – I have four brothers, all older, all in the Fighter's Guild…and wait! So are both my parents – and so am I, as a matter of fact. So you can imagine the kinds of scrapes a girl gets into with four older brothers – and how many dating opportunities she never gets.

I rolled gingerly onto my feet – nothing broken, though I did feel like my ribs were bruised. My Silent Partner's gone – damn, that thing was custom made, too…my dad's going to kick my ass when I have to ask him for a new one.

I sighed, stumbled a little towards the barred door, then leaned on it with another heavy sigh. Can this day get any worse? It's still pretty early…I dunno whether to shout for a guard or let the poor bastards sleep – because face it, if you're stuck down here, it means you've pissed someone off and that someone's not in a forgiving mood. Two words: dead end.

I should have stayed in bed, because that's when the fetcher across the hall started up on me – a Dunmer, I noticed. Ugh – I don't have a problem with Dunmer in general – look at Uncle Modryn. He's bounced me on his knee since I was running around in diapers. He used to babysit before my brothers were of age to be responsible for their baby sister, while my parents were on missions.

"Oh, look, an Imperial in the Imperial Prison. I guess they don't play favorites, do they? Your own kinsmen think you're a piece of human trash. How sad," he baited.

You know, I'm about to make this Dunmer sad. Because short or not, I've got a mean throwing arm and a good eye for distance. He's very lucky, unless I find something to throw at him that I won't need later.

So, four brothers, each with his own endearing bad habits. I just sort of picked one or two from each, as I grew up. The swearing from Rogerik (I'm not good at it, but practice makes perfect), the attitude from Markos (He says 'think like a lion and you'll be like a lion'. Usually, though people just laugh.), the drinking from Brutus (unfortunatly, I've a relatively low tolerance)…picking fights comes from Julius, my second-eldest and favorite brother. Also the head of the Fighter's Guild, once Vilena Donton stepped down. Julius encourages it. I begin think that he only means I should do it when he or one of the others is there to keep a lid on things.

"I bet the guards give you some 'special' treatment before the end." Oh please…let's not start that… "Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here, Imperial! You're going to die!"

"Yeah...and your accent killed me – shut up," I called flatly wobbling back into the cell.

Fetching Dunmer jekosiit tobr'a s'wit.

It isn't very comfortable down here, small, but it has a window. I'm far too short to hop up, grab the bars and peer out. The honest truth is, the Dunmer got me wrong, I'm not actually an Imperial…or rather, I'm only half Imperial. Father's a Nord, and the biggest bear of a man you can imagine. He's huge – they call him 'Einar the Hammer', even we the family do when we're working. He used to be a normal Fighters' Guild member, but now he just does a lot of the weapon-forging. He's really good at it.

My Mother – Bellona - is pretty tough too, for an Imperial. She fights smart, with a Daedric quarterstaff – beware if that thing hits you! She's also got all four of my brothers bent to her will. All she has to do is narrow her eyes and they quiver.

Me? I'm the youngest and the only girl. Of the family, I probably get away with the most when it comes to getting into trouble. Then again, I wind up taking a lot of crap too – you know, the little sister type comments from my brothers and their friends. Sometimes I feel more like a mascot than a member. I'm not saying this is bad, it just makes dating opportunities a little scare on the ground, and everyone makes bug-eyed faces when you do something tough.

A door somewhere overhead clanged open, sending my own poor head ringing. Oooh…too much…booze!

Hurried, worried voices echoed in the corridor. Eh?

"Imperial criminal scum like you give the Empire a bad name, you see." The Dunmer was at it again – doesn't this little s'wit know when to shut up? Apparently not, and it's starting to bug me. "You're an embarrassment. Best if you just...disappeared!"

"I thought I said shut up! Asshole!" I grabbed an empty cup – one of two, oddly enough, then lobbed it like I'd lob a ball at a picnic across the hall. The Dunmer ducked but it was a narrow miss, the cup exploding in a shower of pottery on an unseen wall, raining down musically. "Don't make me throw the other one," I snapped, eyes flashing. Have I mentioned that I'm a redhead? People say we have tempers, but fail to realize that when you hear it often enough, not only does it touch off a temper, but you get the idea that since it's expected, it's okay. I used to think I had a remarkably sweet temper. A million feisty redhead comments later, I quit caring. You can't win. Blonds have the same problem.

"Fetching Dunmer…" I've got to ask Modryn to teach me a couple more Dunmeri slurs – s'wit and n'wah are only so useful.

There was a resonant clang and the sounds of heavy boots on the stone floor.

The Dunmer –who obviously hadn't gotten the message – giggled. Yeah – giggled. Like girls, or crazy people. Oh…I don't want to deal with this! "Do you hear that, Imperial? The guards are coming…for you!"

"Do you want the other cup? In your face?" I called in annoyance. "Pipe down, already!" I barked.

I tell you what, that's why I'm here. They stick the drunk and disorderly in here with the idiot and the experience is so annoying that the offense is never repeated, lest you wind up down here even longer…

I listened intently. The first voice was female, low, concerned.

Then a heavy sigh as the footsteps evened out, they've reached the bottom of stairs. Hm, this explains why the voices started overhead. "My…my sons are dead, aren't they?" a male voice asked quietly. The quality of the voice held age – possibly a lot of it.

"We don't know that, sire," the woman was saying, "but my job right now is to get you to safety…we'll worry about the others later…"

"This place," the old man seemed to be looking around, the voices drawing nearer. I could hear more boots tapping softly, furtively and light-stepped upon the ground. "The Imperial Prison?" I prowled over to the bars of my cell door and stretched to see if I could see anything. No such luck.

Several mirthless chuckles. "Yes, Your Majesty. Beneath the Legion Compound. We're headed for a secret passage known only to the Blades. No one can follow us through here. And even if they could, they'd be unwise to…why is there a prisoner in this cell?" the woman asked sharply, suddenly up in my face.

"Whoa!" I yelped, startled, dancing back, light footed. Lumbering fighters don't last long, unless they're big enough to withstand more than a few hits.

Now I know why the old man's voice is so familiar –there are only so many people who wear this kind of a gaudy getup, and so much clunky, chunky jewelry. I've seen Emperor Uriel several times, from a distance. Just at yearly addresses, the occasional tour of the kingdom – just like I know High Chancellor Ocato and several of the Elder Council by sight. For an old guy, his eyes are still incredibly bright, a shocking shade of sky-blue, unclouded by the age hanging on his face. He might have a lot of failings, but face to face he doesn't seem like an idiot.

"The usual mix-up with the watch!" the Redguard male at her arm declared, wincing under his superior's sharp demand, then glowering.

Great. Once again, I'm somewhere I don't want to or shouldn't be.

"It was supposed to be kept off-limits," she turned to one of her associates, who shrugged helplessly, though annoyed at the same time. The woman gave an exasperated snort. "Damn sloppy…get back away from this door, prisoner. If you seek to interfere, I shall run you through myself…." she snarled.

"Fine," I raised my hands, backing up, until I stepped into the wall at the far end of the cell. Those katanas look really sharp. I'm no mage, so I'm pretty well defenseless – I don't think that any grappling skills I managed to learn are going to help. Mostly because I'm short. The top of my head barely comes up to the Emperor's nose, and he's not exactly tall.

They're not just guards, I decided as I watched the leader open the cell door with a spell, examining their armor and weapons. Akaviri katanas, funny armor…the Emperor…Blades. Aptly named, if my two septims count.

I backed up and stood calmly at rest in a corner. I was warned twice to hold my ground as I half-smirked the whole time. Like I'm that stupid.

"Wait…just a moment…." Emperor Uriel had finally taken notice of me, dressed in clothes meant to be comfortable under armor, a little bedraggled from my stint in prison. I bowed slightly, nervously, taking in his appearance – it's more different up close than from the back of a crowd, let me tell you. His robes were in some disarray, as if he had hastily thrown them on. He carried nothing more devastating than a dagger, and a look of strain and stress kept his brow crinkled. "I've seen you…" His blue eyes caught mine and held them. I could blink, but despite every instinct screaming at me to look away, I couldn't. Something in his expression changed, as if he could see through me, or perhaps, see me in some form of hyper-clarity, or an alternate version of me. "Let me see your face," he sidestepped the Blade who was keeping his distance, but effectively had me cornered.

"Sire," I bowed properly, finally able to look away, though I raised my eyes up just enough to see heavy robes and that oversized red jewel.

"Look at me," Well, that's permission. I straightened up and looked at his chin, then his nose when his mouth twitched, which seemed to satisfy him. Looking a little higher, his eyes showed…fear, but also resolution, determination and something like recognition.

For a moment I felt odd, as if I were a mirror, rather than a living girl. I've heard rumors that the Emperors still retain vestiges of power, because of the Dragonblood in them. That they can see the future. However, I get the feeling that the Emperor was looking at my soul. Not comfortable, I wish he'd blink or something. "What…what's going on?" I swallowed, when the silence stretched uncomfortably.

The emperor blinked as if waking up. He makes me nervous. Just a little. "My sons have been attacked, and it seems I am next," his voice held the certainty that 'attacked' meant 'dead'.

I felt a cold grip of fear. Oooh, that's not good. Major assassinations, and high profile ones too. It's weird, I didn't think the Dark Brotherhood would ever go for so many highly placed targets, and from what I'm inferring it sounds like the princes were killed within a relatively short span of time. They were fine, last I heard, before I woke up here in prison.

"Now, it can't be as bad as all that…" I responded automatically, with my standard phrase reserved for freaking-out tearful clients. Sometimes, in the Fighter's Guild, you get people under stress as clients. Usually they just want to be reassured. No big deal. Plus, we see people who have just given up all the time. I like those missions, I get to 'be the hero' without running unnecessary, nasty risks to do it. And that's what I tell them 'as bad as all that'. Which isn't to say things aren't bad at all, which pisses people off. People don't like their concerns and fears made into jokes.

The Emperor's mouth twisted into a grim smile and he looked over my face again. "No?" I'd amused him, I was sure, which was not my intent. "Perhaps," he didn't believe it, but hey, that's his prerogative.

This is about where I usually get the details of the job I'm supposed to be doing.

"The Blades are leading me out of the city. Interestingly enough, it so happens the entrance to this escape route, is right here in your cell." He motioned to the woman who told me to keep my distance as she fiddled with the edge of the shelf upon which I was probably supposed to sleep – as opposed to the pallet I had been on. Which made me think I had decided to sleep on the floor, while somewhat intoxicated.

I never get that drunk though. Well, except that one time, on my sixteenth birthday...

"So why am I here?" I asked, frowning.

The Blades exchanged looks at this, and I knew they were wondering the same thing.

The Emperor shrugged. "Perhaps the gods have put you here, that our paths might cross. As for the indiscretion which has placed you here…" he shrugged, though it was like he knew what I was in for, or rather, could make an accurate guess, "it is not for that, which you will be remembered." His tone had changed again, and I realized it was the sound of a Seer making prophecy, or at least, declaration of possible future. I noticed, too, that for moment his pupils had turned white, giving the blue eyes a ghastly look, but then he blinked and it was gone.

"Now what?" I asked meekly. People who see the future, claim to see the future, and most Telvanni make me nervous. It's not like I'm afraid of catching something...I'm afraid I'll get caught in their machinations. If I have a role in the future, please, please, please let it be something non-embarrassing. I don't want to pratfall in front of the whole Empire, or even half of it.

I really don't want to be a pawn.

Emperor Uriel closed his eyes, sighed heavily, then opened them again, "You will find your own path. Take care...there will be blood and death before the end." But the look he gave me conveyed he did not believe in chance, anymore than he believed I would stand by while there was an open door in my cell. Particularly with things getting interesting: I had almost forgotten my headache.

No sooner had I remembered I was supposed to have one than it came crashing back in.

Ow!

"Your highness, we must go," the lady Blade was saying. I was preoccupied enough to simply say 'mm hmm' and nod when told not to follow. But I caught the Emperor glancing back at me. That, at least, looks like an invitation – because his expression read quite clearly that I was free to walk down that dark corridor, just as I was free to stay right where I am.

And I'll bet he knows I'm curious, I don't want to be here, and it looks like trouble is on the move. I intend to be a moving target, if I have to be a target at all.

I did let them get well ahead and with that I headed after them, moving as stealthily as I knew how…which wasn't very. I'm not a sneaky by nature. I like to be the one ho kicks in the bad guys' door and yells 'on the floor, assholes!'. Yeah, the one whom no one takes seriously. Sigh. I hope that changes, as I get older, but I'm not holding out much hope.

The passage itself was made of the same whitish stone you find in Aylied ruins – unsurprising, this used to be Aylied territory. The whole region of Cyrodiil is littered with their old stuff –and if you've steady nerves and need to make a quick septim, there's plenty of opportunity to go treasure hunting.

I, however, wound up going around, the long way, because the Blades finally caught wise and locked a door behind them. I don't have a lockpick, I'm no thief. So I hoofed it, the whole long way, with only rusty weapons I found in transit.

There's a story for when I get home.