For Skyrim's standards, the day was exceptionally warm.

Armed with a tankard full of fresh ale, Aela found the other members of the Inner Circle in the yard behind Jorrvaskr. Farkas and Vilkas were sparring, heaving at each another with blunt swords, while the fourth member of the Circle was seated at one of the small tables on the patio.

"Falka." Aela joined her at the table, and couldn't resist to tease the other woman. "Still enjoying the view?"

But the Redguard woman did not reply. All she did was acknowledge Aela's presence with a nod while her eyes never left the two fighting men. Farkas was attacking his brother with remarkable short blows given his huge sword, forcing the other to retreat, parrying. Vilkas found a gap in Farkas' defence and leaped. Farkas noticed his error and stepped sideways, sending his brother on the ground with a counter attack. At the table, Falka hissed in sympathy.

"The wound still needs time to heal."

Falka nodded, dejectedly.

"What did the healers say?"

"Same as you. It just needs more time. Maybe one or two more trips to the hot wells up near Mistwatch, if I can pry him away. But" – she shifted in her seat, finally turning away from the sparring ground to face Aela – "we've got a new job. There's this artefact – a sword, I gather – collectors from all over the country are willing to pay a lot for. And there's this one collector who's hoping to acquire it."

Aela's face fell. "A burglary? Why not contact the Rats?"

"No, there's more. He's going to buy it. At the moment, it's well guarded inside one of the strongholds up in the Pale, in a museum. Visitors are allowed inside during daytime, but – and that's the interesting thing – this artefact is guarded by powerful spells. First of all, the true artefact only shows itself between midnight and dawn. For the rest of the day, it's on some other plane of existence. Somewhere else... But not… here in Tamriel."

"What good's an artefact in a museum if you can't even see it?" Farkas' deep voice interrupted her. He let himself fall in a chair between the two women.

"Exactly. Which is why they're going to sell it." Falka raised her head in Vilkas' direction. "You finished?"

"Aye. Brother's becoming weak." Vilkas placed a kiss on her lips while his brother grumbled, "Good thing you're not going soft then, Vilkas."

Chuckling, Vilkas broke the kiss. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"See how soft he's become?" Vilkas could hear his brother complaining to Aela. And grinning to himself over his brother's mock distress, he let the door fall shut behind him.

Falka silenced Farkas' whining with a wave of her hand. "Listen. Usually, the museum's well guarded. And the artefact isn't present in Tamriel during the day anyhow, so no problems there. But…"

"But?" Farkas prompted her. "What's all of this got to do with us?"

"But," Falka interrupted him, "They're planning this grand event next week, something between a private viewing and a soirée. And the highlight's going to be the auction of the artefact."

"What?" This time, it was Aela who interrupted her. "Then it's a job for a Bard! Or for a Mage."

"Aela, I am a Mage." Briefly, Falka shuddered at the memory of Quaranir almost making her Arch Mage. "Anyhow, here's where it gets tricky. And where our expertise comes in. They're hosting this event, with the artefact the central point of interest, as it's going to be the central piece of the auction."

"And it's visible then," Farkas interrupted.

"Aye. With dozens of guests, collectors, and patrons present. And the prospect buyer is worried somebody's going to steal the sword while it's on display."

"I still can't see how this is our job." Farkas emptied Aela's mug of ale, not heeding her complaints. "I'll fetch you another one," he then offered. "You need one, too?" His sister-in-law nodded and he was gone.

Once Farkas was back with the beer, talk returned to the job at hand. Two young recruits had taken up their training in the vacated yard, and the sound of clashing steel rang across the grounds.

"So, this collector is willing to pay for the artefact, but he's afraid somebody's going to steal it before he can."

"Should've contacted the Rats anyhow," Farkas grumbled, clanking his tankard to Aela's, then to Falka's. "Make sure they don't accept the assignment."

After she'd taken a gulp of the beer herself, Falka continued. "But he contacted us. I owe this man, and I want to help him. So we have to get inside and make sure he and his sword get home unmolested."

That moment, the heavy doors of Jorrvaskr creaked open and Vilkas stepped outside. "So, what's the plan?" he inquired, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to Falka, splitting his attention between the whelps in the yard and the discussion at the table.

"We still need a plan to first get inside," she informed Vilkas, leaning into him. "A distraction."

"It took you so long to brief them?"

Falka huffed. "If they hadn't interrupted me that often. Anyhow, the collector wants our services, and we will deliver. Only, I can't see how to attend a this soirée in the first place."

"You don't happen to have an invitation to that event, do you?"

Falka shook her head.

"How many of us do you need on the inside?" Aela took another gulp of her beer. "Man, Farkas, that's warm as piss. Where'd you get it?"

"At lest two," the Redguard answered. "Or more. The more the better."

"We could smuggle you in hidden in casks of ale. Or wine." Farkas suggested.

"No." Falka shook her head. "Forget it. We need to be respectable once inside."

"Besides," Aela chuckled, "you remember the last time our two love birds got wasted?"

Neither Falka nor Vilkas did give in to Aela's teasing, but Farkas made a nondescript noise. "By Ysgramor!" He shuddered. "We don't want you to pull such a stunt while on official Companion business. Forget the barrels."

"We could smuggle you in as an armour stand," Vilkas pestered his brother. "Maybe offer you as part of the auction."

"Why not simply barge in through the front door?"

Falka shook her head. "Not this time, Farkas. I'm sorry."

"Put your guard up, whelp!" Vilkas bellowed at the young Dunmer in the yard, making the other three Companions jump. In the yard, both the Dunmer and his sparring partner blanched. "Watch your left! Frygg's almost got you!"

"So… we need to get inside the museum…" Unperturbed by Vilkas' interruption, Aela stared into the distance while formulating her thoughts. "And then cause some delay to stay for the evening reception."

"Correct."

"What about—" Aela shook her head, interrupting her own thoughts. "No, that won't work."

"What?" Vilkas looked at her, tearing his own gaze away from the swordplay in the yard. Athis and Ria had joined the other two in the yard, and even Torvar had crawled out of his hole.

"If somebody got injured…"

"In a museum!" Farkas' mood was sour. He did not like this new job one bit.

"That's it! Aela, you're brilliant!" A mischievous grin spread across Falka's face. "We go in as late in the afternoon as possible, in order to see the exhibition. And once inside—" She took a gulp of beer for dramatic effect. "Once inside, I could feign to be sick."

Farkas stared at her openly. "Why would you be sick?"

The woman chuckled, her eyes shining with mischief. And, taking Vilkas' hand and placing it on her stomach, she dropped the bomb. "Because of the child, of course."

Vilkas only eyed her sideways.

"Think, it's a brilliant plan!"

"The child?" Farkas' booming voice echoed over the courtyard. "You're with child?" He jumped up from his seat in agitation. "You," he stabbed a finger in his brother's face, "you got her with child?"

Every sound in the yard died down. Five pairs of eyes stared at them, feints and attacks entirely forgotten.

Vilkas removed his hand from Falka's. "Farkas. Calm down."

But his brother did not listen. "Didn't you think before? You're both…" he lowered his voice, whispering, "…werewolves! Think about that for a moment! And you!" He turned to Falka, his voice once again loud enough for everyone to hear. "No more beer for you! You need to drink milk! We're getting a goat!"

His sister-in-law protested as Farkas jerked the tankard out of her reach.

"How are you talking to your Harbinger," Vilkas chided him.

"Oh, Harbinger she is! Of your destruction! Didn't you think what you were doing before you got her with child?"

Vilkas patience was wearing thin. "Listen!" He got up from his seat and moved to stand in front of his brother. "I didn't get her with child."

"But she just said—"

"Farkas," Falka gasped in between giggles. What a sight they must be! Everyone within Whiterun must have heard Farkas' shouting by now. "Sit down."

Farkas sat, followed by his brother.

"It's not true, Farkas." Falka explained in a soothing voice. "I promise you it's not true. Calm down."

"He knew— Oh." After the initial outburst, Farkas regretted his rash actions. "I'm sorry, brother," he apologised. "I'll go and correct my—"

"Wait!" Aela's hand shot out, pushing him back in his seat. "Don't. You know, this plan actually could work. Now, listen. First of all, you." She looked at Farkas. "Go congratulate your brother" Farkas stared at her. "Come on, do it."

Baffled, Farkas got up and pulled his twin in a bear hug.

"Next Falka."

He embraced her and kissed her on the cheeks. Aela followed his example, first embracing Vilkas, then Falka.

"Because we want everyone to know it," she explained, sitting back down again.

"Brilliant, Red. You're insane." Vilkas' face was hard to read, but his tone was thick with mock annoyance.

While Falka just gave him an 'and don't you love it' smile, it earned him a slap on the back of his head from Aela. "Shut up. We do want everyone to talk about it. Because the moment Falka pulls her act in the museum, hopefully some bystander will make the connection to her delicate state" – Vilkas snorted – "thus opening our way inside. They won't be able to deny the Harbinger of the Companions."

From down in the yard, the sound of clashing swords came again, though Athis and Torvar were remarkably absent.

"I want both of you to play the happy expecting couple this week. Encourage the gossip, will you? No armour and weapons for you, Falka. Nice clothes for a turn. We have to dress you up a bit, maybe even a little bump—"

"Aela." Vilkas' stern look spoke volumes.

"Fine, no fake then. But you, too, will have to pull yourself together. We want you at your wife's side. The happy father. Think you can pull that?"

"If you give him enough beer," his brother grinned.

A determined look spread over Vilkas' face. "I get it, Aela. If Red can pull this charade, so can I. Besides," he grinned at Falka. "I'll have my fun, seeing you pretending. In nice clothes, for a turn."

"Oh, you think I can't play my part?" She got up, parading her flat stomach in front of him.

Aela rolled her eyes while Farkas took a deep swallow of his beer. Vilkas' hands shot out, pulling Falka into his lap.

After a few moments, Aela's voice interrupted them. "Guys! Expecting parents, not" – she waved a hand at them – "horny freaks!"

Next to her, Farkas sighed. "We're so going to fail this. Mark my words."

In mock desperation, Aela rested her head between her hands, spread flat on the table. "At least she got her distraction."