Mercer shook the dice in his hands. Anyone but Brynjolf, he prayed. The dice hit the table. "Aha, seven! My lucky number! Who is it?"

"I'm not kissing you again, lad." Brynjolf slurred. Mercer gave Babette a dirty look.

"Tell you what. In light of…recent circumstances I'll go easy on you. See, these Skyrim winters are fine for all you Nords, but we Breton's need a little, ah, something extra."

"I'm not sleeping with you either."

"Don't flatter yourself, Bryn." He continued over the ensuing laughter, "All I want is for you to steal me a coat."

"That's it? I'll hardly get three points for that!"

"That is true…" Mercer pretended to consider something. "Well, Maven Black-Briar's got a handsome bearskin coat that she hardly ever wears. It'd be a shame to let such a beauty waste away in a closet all winter." Brynjolf grinned.

"Maven's bearskin coat? Bring in some good points, I suppose. Alright! You got yourself a deal."

...

The two guild mates excused themselves from the table. Mercer was grateful Brynjolf didn't press him for small talk as they made their way into the city. There weren't many pleasant directions a conversation could go after an incident like that.

"Let's hope she's home tonight. I'd hate to cause any more trouble for poor Healga." Brynjolf joked when they reached Black-Briar Manor.

"Nah, Maven would never be involved with Healga. She's too proud for that kind of debauchery. Though if you ask me, tight old bitch could use some." Brynjolf chuckled as he fumbled with the lock.

"Won't be a minute." And with that, he disappeared into the manor. Mercer banged his head against the doorframe. What a night.

With his ear still pressed against the doorframe, he mentally counted backwards from a hundred. Did Brynjolf really think he was going to get off so easily by just having to steal a bearskin coat? After what he, Mercer, had to do?

"Guards! Intruder! Thief in Blackbrair manor!" And with that, he disappeared into the darkness.

...

Brynjolf hobbled unsteady up the stairs of Black Bair Manor. Why did Maven have such wiggly stairs in her house? Surely she could afford better. He almost missed a step at the top of the staircase, causing him to fall forward. On an ordinary night, Brynjolf could handle his liquor and then some. Then again, on an ordinary night he didn't exchange passionate kisses with his guild master either.

So many bedrooms in this house! Not a problem. Just because he was drunk didn't mean he couldn't still be sneaky. As he swayed through the nearest doorway, his hip made painful contact with a nightstand.

"Ow!"

"What! What Happened?" Ingun BlackBrair muttered from a deep sleep.

"Your stupid table hit me!" Brynjolf shouted.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't let it happen again!" He warned her.

"Okay," she agreed, having already fallen back asleep. Brynjolf stumbled out of the room. Oops.

The next two rooms were empty of bearskin coats, and thankfully, people. But in the master bed room, Brynjolf was met with a shock.

Not only was Maven lying in bed wearing the bearskin coat and absolutely nothing else; her son Hemming was there too. This night just keeps getting weirder and weirder he thought, as he bent down as gently as he could to work the garment off her shoulders. He cursed his sluggish, drunk movements as he almost pulled a strand of Maven's hair. He had always scolded Delvin for going drinking on a job, and now here he was, drunk as a skunk trying to pull a coat off the most powerful woman in the Rift.

Brynjolf held his breath as he gingerly pulled her arm out of the large sleeve. Hemming' own arm had been draped across Mavens and now slid dangerously close to her face. Brynjolf had to act quickly (and even more carefully) before the change in positions awakened the pair. Hemming muttered in his sleep (Brynjolf's heart skipped a beat) and repositioned himself without waking. A few more gentle tugs and the coat was his! He sighed with relief.

"Stop right there! You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people! What have you to say in your defense?" With a loud, echoing crash two guards burst into the room.

"Fuck!" Brynjolf yelled. There was a window just above Maven's bed. His best bet was to make a run for it, and hope she had a balcony of some kind.

"What's going on here?" Maven roared as she leapt from the bed, unaware that she had been disrobed.

"My most humble apologies Lady Maven and Lord…Hemming?" One of the guard's had just realized who Maven had been sharing her bed with.

"Out! Out of my house, you fools." The guards hurried away, Brynjolf on their heels. "Not you. I'll deal with you myself." She grabbed the thief by the collar of his robe, and whipped him around to face her. Then she smacked him hard across the face.

"Enjoying yourself Bryn?" A snide voice called. Maven, Brynjolf and Hemming all turned towards the source of the noise. Mercer Frey himself was peached on the windowsill, surveying the scene before him with utmost amusement. "Looking lovely tonight, Maven. And hello Hemming. Fancy seeing you here." Mercer nodded smugly in Hemming's direction. The young man had been trying to discreetly cloth himself and exit the room for the last few minutes.

"I should have known." Maven growled.

"May want to cover yourself, Maven. Think of the example you're setting for your son."

"Shut up, Frey," but she hastily grabbed a sheet from the bed. Brynjolf made his move for the window, shoving the coat in Mercer's arms.

"Well Maven, thanks for the lovely evening. Think we'll be leaving now…"

"I'll be having a word with the Dark Brotherhood about this!"

"You know- Brynjolf and I were just having dinner with Astrid. We can tell her all about those guards who saw you and Hemming together if you like. In fact! We could tell lots of people…"

"There's no need for that-"

"I quite agree. We'll keep the Brotherhood – and the rest of Skryrim- out of this if you will."

"You're such a bastard, Mercer."

"My pleasure, Maven," and with a final smug laugh, he and Brynjolf dropped out of sight.

...

"How'd it go?" Tomila called to the two of them as they entered the flagon.

"Well- Brynjolf here managed to wake the whole house and alert the guards." Mercer shook his head. "And you call yourself a thief. Simple fishing job, man!"

"I'd like to see you do better." Brynjolf muttered over the subsequent snickers and jeers.

"5 points. You did get the coat after all." Mercer donned the garment to demonstrate.

"Shut up, Mercer." Brynjolf grumbled.

(A/N You know that weird line of dialogue where Hemming kinda implies he bones his mom? Yeahhh...)