4E 203 – Sun's Height

"Are you certain that our position in Riften is vulnerable?" Tullius asked.

For the third time, Legate Rikke confirmed the worrisome reports. "General, you know Fasendil would not make something like this up. I stand by him when I say that Maven Black-Briar is aggressively asserting her autonomy over the Rift regardless of the Empire."

Tullius nodded. He gestured at Legate Caessennius standing at attention in the far corner of the room. "Adventus, any word from the frumentarii?"

"They have all gone dark, sir. It is an emergency tactic but I fear that some of them, if not all, have been turned," he replied.

"Ah, damn. All our assets in the Rift?"

"Yes, sir," Caessennius affirmed.

The General slid back into his chair. His eyes ran from the various dotted markers tacked all over the map of Riften to the solid flag pin pinned over the standard of Windhelm. "Is he still with us?"

Rikke and Caessennius shared a look. The former shrugged. "Well, sir, you did dismiss him. But he is still active in Skyrim. Are we doing this again?"

Tullius freed a piece of unused parchment and began writing. "If he got things moving again in Markarth, he might be able to do the same in the Rift."

As soon as he was done, he folded the letter and had it sealed. "Adventus, I want you to personally deliver this to him. Give him my direct orders; if he declines, let him read the letter. If he declines again, report back."

"Yes, sir."

Before Caessennius left, Rikke voiced her concern. "General, you do know that we got lucky in Markarth."

"Does it matter if luck is with us?" Tullius retorted. "I am not counting on luck here."

4E 203 – Last Seed

Legate Fasendil could not find his dispatch notes. Odd. He had left them on his table awhile ago. He had been gone for only a brief while to relieve an Imperial courier outside the Keep.

"Damn it. Damn it," the Altmer growled. If he could root out the Thieves' Guild from the sewers, he would. But that was not to be. Limited in manpower and politically contained by the ever-powerful Black-Briar family, those damn rodents were untouchable. At least the Dark Brotherhood was no more.

He had to accept that whatever went missing from his quarters would never be returned. What made him bitter and angry tonight, however, was the fact that the articles stolen were confidential dispatches between his fellow legates across Skyrim. Fasendil realized early on that he had compromised the security of Imperial forces in and outside the Rift.

"Damn it all!"

There was a thud upstairs. He quickly surveyed his quarters. Not here. The thud came again. From just above him. Another thud. And some furniture falling. Fasendil drew his sword and sent his aides to guard the exits. The legate slowly ascended to the mezzanine above his office and caught a booted leg slip behind the kitchen doorway.

"Show yourself, thief! You are stealing from the Legion!" he declared.

More noise. The thief was getting reckless.

"Give yourself up!"

He rushed into the kitchen. It was a mess. Then the creaking of wood inches behind his bare head. The legate turned in time to block the cast iron pan that would have knocked him out. The thief was only shorter in build, hooded and covered in head to toe in a blackened silk shroud making it impossible to discern the identity. The long mantle draping from his shoulders also concealed the short sword that came loose from its sheath.

Fasendil blocked the swing and pushed the thief against the railing on the mezzanine, drawing in the rest of the Imperial garrison. The struggle was short.

Come morning, the legate controllably expressed his frustration at the attempted disruption of his duties to Jarl Maven Black-Briar.

"At least you're still alive," Maven remarked at the end of it.

Fasendil wanted to rant. "That is true. However, if possible, I would wish for more cooperation from the guardsmen so nothing like this ever happens again." She did not need to know how the attempted theft-turned-murderer could have nearly crippled Legion forces across this province of the state.

"Your safety is guaranteed. As always," she answered. "The Thieves' Guild is nothing but a band of ambitious ragtag thugs. After last night, I doubt they could try something like this again."

From the look on Maven's face, the legate was ever more worried about his personal safety. She wanted him either under her thumb or gone. So Fasendil decided to bite back as soon as he received Rikke's dispatch later in the day. And bite back hard he would.

4E 203 – Hearthfire

The banquet was in high spirits as the nobles from Cyrodiil and Morrowind produced enough noise from their drunken tomfoolery to muffle the discussion by the throne.

"I don't think he's that much of a threat, mother," Hemming said quietly behind his goblet.

Maven maintained her faux festive mien. "The people say otherwise. That is enough of an issue that needs to be settled."

"He has not done anything damaging to us. We are still in control. It's just the people; they tend to talk about whatever is in the air."

Maven showed him a brief scowl. "He is in the air. And now even the Blacklight nobles are talking about him. No rumors are to be taken at face value."

"Preposterous. He can't be that influential in Morrowind," Hemming dismissed.

"I want him summoned to my court as soon as possible. I need to have a word with him."

"Yes, mother."

Fasendil was smiling before his fellow legate finished talking. "About time you finally showed them their place," he said when he was done.

The Nord, an experienced legate long since discharged, smirked. "It wasn't easy but it was done."

"You've been making some noise," Fasendil remarked, downing his tankard of mead. "People talk when you do them a favor."

"I know. Just enough noise and Maven will finally pay attention."

The Altmer legate sighed. "Maven is probably squirming in her seat. She doesn't like influentials in her city unless they're complacent to her." He pointed upstairs. "Last month, I had to fend off an assassin. Bastard stole my dispatches with Rikke and nearly had my head. I'm sure Maven had a hand in it."

"I know," he replied wryly. "That's why I'm here, right? I remember when Lady Law-giver was the jarl. Poor woman could barely move an inch without Black-Briar breathing down her neck."

"I don't know who could have been better. But we had no other choice."

The Nord turned to see the doors on the Legion's quarters swing open and closed. The day shift had retired while the night shift was preparing to conduct their patrols. "Good thing I've memorized the faces."

"I know what you mean. It's arduous but at least it helps to know who's out of place," Fasendil remarked. "The Thieves' Guild is cornered underneath us but even if we tried, they'd slip away. Somehow."

"You can never really get rid of a disease like them. But you can contain it. And so far, Maven is keeping them there until she changes her mind."

The Altmer noticed the minute twist on the edge of his visitor's lip. "What do you have in mind tomorrow?"

The Nord stared blankly at the wall. Then grinned. He set down his empty tankard and rose to his feet. "Some more generosity for the citizens."

Fasendil leaned over and tapped his friend on the shoulder. "You know, I'm glad you're on our side."

The following morning, the Nord appeared in the halls of Mistveil Keep, bowing his knee slightly before the throne before rising. "You called, Jarl Black-Briar?"

"I've been hearing your name in court recently. The people have not ceased blabbering about you," Maven began. "I am also aware of the rising concerns about Morrowind."

The Nord smiled politely. "I cannot deny that we have been reinforcing our garrisons here to protect against unwarranted incursions from Morrowind. That is not to imply that we regard our Dunmer allies with hostility."

"Oh, no. The Dunmer hold nothing against us. Not in any significant way."

"What seems to be the matter, Jarl Black-Briar?"

Maven twisted her lips to an angry frown. She maintained it long enough for the Nord to visually recognize her disdain for him. "The people have been regarding you as their savior so much that they have more confidence in you than in us. If you think you can sweep them away with your charm, you are very wrong. We retain control of the Rift—of course, loyally under the Empire. It would behoove me to have you disappear but that would be too troublesome to handle."

"Are you…threatening an officer of the Legion, Jarl Black-Briar?" the legate.

Hemming glanced at his mother with veiled surprise. He saw Maul stiffen to her flank. Maven nonetheless waved him off. "The fact that you are in the Legion makes matters complicated. There is no denying your services to the Empire during Ulfric's uprising and if there is anything I could regard you with, it is that I respect you for helping to put down that rabid dog."

The Nord feigned ignorance. "So, what? Am I too…problematic?"

Maven scowled. "You are. But instead of pitting the whole Legion against me, I'd rather have you appointed a member of my court. An honorary thane with all the proper formalities and functions the title affords."

She leaned close, a smile curling on her lips. The legate appeared nonplussed; she could read the frustration through his eyes. And he had ample reason to accept.

"So what do you say?"

The Nord tilted his head.

The atmosphere in the precinct was dour. When the Nord finished, Fasendil was left gawking like a stunned owl. "She just webbed you in like a frostbite spider," he said.

The Nord glared back. "Well, I'd rather take it as a development we could exploit."

"How? You do know that if you were given a position in her court, you're basically shackling yourself to her. You are putting a noose on your neck. That's how she got Lady Law-giver; that's how she snared the previous jarls," the Altmer legate bemoaned.

"What's done is done, Fasendil. I'm already a thane of Riften." Then he beamed a wicked beam. "I'm still on your side. I may have signed myself to be a dog to that bitch but a thane is never really restricted to his traditional duties. Just ask Balgruuf."

Fasendil paused. He sat down on his chair and poured in a fresh tankard of mead. The silence lasted long until he was half-way through his drink. Then he shook his head. "You sly bastard. What can you do against her as thane?"

A deep chuckle. "You'd be surprised."

4E 203 – Frost Fall

Snow was swept into piles lining the edges of Riften's streets. The street sweepers were quick to thaw out some of the cresting ice on the cobblestone and wood, making it easier for the rest of the city's denizens to move about. It was even easier for the detachment of Imperial troops to meander their way through Riften's thoroughfare and into Mistveil Keep.

The guardsmen wisely stepped aside as three contubernia of troops poured into the hall. The centurion leading them was a new face to Maven. And he did not appear to be in a graceful mood.

"By order of the Imperial Legion, Jarl Maven Black-Briar, you are to surrender all articles, artifacts, and records dating to the beginning of your appointment as jarl of this hold."

Maven felt a twitch on her face and bit down hard. "I assure you, I have nothing that would pose any threat to the Empire. I may have been involved in some rather ugly operations against dissident elements but my fierce loyalty has been proven time and again."

"I repeat, Jarl Black-Briar. Surrender all documents and records detailing your tenure as jarl or face disciplinary action from the Imperial Legion."

Hemming was about ready to leave his chair and collect all that the centurion demanded. Sweat beaded down his forehead; this was it, he thought. They were cornered. But how? To his side, Maul was hesitant. He could crush two skulls with his bare hands but to face a hundred legionnaires and be branded a traitor because of it was just too much.

Maven gripped his arm. Her voice fluctuated with control. "Just get the logbooks. Dispose of the rest," she ordered quietly.

"Yes, m-my jarl."

The centurion, however, was annoyingly alert. "I have reports that claim that you have more important articles than your logbooks. If we see any sign of deterrence or any attempt to destroy anything that might serve to incriminate you in any illegal activities, we will act within Imperial and Skyrim laws and decree the hold under martial rule."

"I demand to see Legate Fasendil," Maven nearly hollered.

"Legate Fasendil is awaiting you outside the Keep if you wish to meet him, Jarl Black-Briar," the centurion rebutted.

"And what of—"

The hall's massive doors creaked open. "Your thane is busy containing those ragtag thugs in the Ratway, Jarl Black-Briar," Fasendil declared. "Just as you ordered."

Maven eased herself against her throne. Her palm rested under her chin to catch the droplets of sweat running down her temples. "Why, of course. The Thieves' Guild needs to know their place among the dead."

"I believe they have much to say regarding you," the Altmer continued. "their representatives have been quite cooperative."

"Is that so?" the jarl said, doing her best to hide her bubbling anger.

"It is an on-going operation, you see. Details are limited at best as we have yet to hear of anything more recent." That was, of course, a lie. But even if Maven knew it was, this lying game had been going on since before the Stormcloak Insurrection began.

Hemming then appeared with a stack of aged tomes and manuscripts. The other keep servants followed with the rest of the demanded articles. Maven was quick to divert the attention. "Perhaps we can be more negotiable here. This is, after all, my hold. So I, at least, can exercise my rightful authority to initiate diplomatic bargains."

"Negotiations are overridden, I'm afraid," Fasendil interjected.

"How so?" To Maven, that was impossible. She had the likes of Motierre and the other high councilmen from Cyrodiil on her side. She expended much to get a fraction of the senate to put her on solid footing. Yet how could this happen? Could they have been paid off? Could the Emperor have finally exercised his full executive powers, perhaps?

"We cannot disclose that. It is a matter of our superiors," the legate answered smugly. "Try as you might, Maven. You can't buy yourself out of this one."

"I beg your pardon?"

The centurion looked controllably excited. He recognized the first item presented by the steward; an ornate saber forged out of hardened malachite bearing the sigil of a now insignificant family name that had once held power over the Rift. The subsequent jewelries were branded with various seals from differing houses of nobility. "Thank you for your cooperation, Jarl Black-briar."

Fasendil leaned over the growing pile and whistled. "Looks like loot, Maven," he wistfully crowed.

For the first time in a long time, Maven found herself unable to speak. And she felt increasingly warm as her heart beat faster than she could remember.

Deep underground, amid the ancient man-made canals that controlled the flow of water underneath Riften, the Nord tossed Brynjolf a loosely knit knapsack. Fellow thieves Vekel, Vex, and Delvin flanked their representative. The bag was filled to the brim with septims and a vast assortment of precious stones. The accumulated value would be enough to keep them going a for good long while.

"A fair amount of coin here," Delvin cooed.

The Nord beckoned as he reached the moistened door on the other side of the tunnel. "Remember: the Legion also pays well."

"I doubt this is from the Legion's coffers," Brynjolf said.

The thane of Riften chuckled. "Does it matter to you where your money comes from?"

The thieves were silent.

ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: June 22, 2016

LAST EDITED: March 25, 2017

INITIALLY UPLOADED: September 19, 2016

NOTE: Hey. Thought I'd throw this one out. Been playing Skyrim a lot. Decided to do some quests for Maven Black-Briar. Didn't like the character but planted some ideas in my head. Reviews would be nice, especially on the writing style because I'm experimenting on that. Thanks. Good day.