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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones everyone!)
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With his status established, his next mission secured, and a valuable, if slightly demanding, connection made with the court wizard, Aerion gave a final, formal nod to Jarl Balgruuf, Irileth, Proventus, and Farengar. He and Lupin turned and descended the steps of the dais, the great hall already settling back into its smoky, firelit quiet.
The immense weight of Balgruuf's conditional trust settled upon him, heavy and cold, a cloak woven of suspicion and opportunity. He had made his promise to the Jarl, accepted the monumental bounty for the Giants at Bleakwind Basin, and now had an obligation to the city, the kind of obligation that would inevitably lead to massive power gains.
But before he could march out into the freezing tundra to face creatures the size of three to four story houses, he had a smaller, more immediate piece of human diplomacy to resolve. He had made a promise to Carlotta Valentia.
As the two of them are leaving the great hall, he spared a glance back. Jarl Balgruuf returned to take a seat at his throne, Proventus was already reorganizing some scrolls, Irileth stood like a statue of vigilant caution, and Farengar Secret-Fire was halfway up toward his arcane laboratory, muttering excitedly to himself about fractal patterns.
The court was already moving on, treating Aerion's presence as a successful transaction, a problem solved, and a new variable introduced.
The heavy doors of Dragonsreach opened, releasing Aerion and his fox into the rapidly chilling night air. The sun was long gone, having dipped behind the jagged peaks to the west, and the moon, a sliver of pale silver in the vast, inky sky, had asserted its soft, cold light over the city.
They began the long descent down the numerous steps and winding paths that separated the Cloud District (as the upper section around Dragonsreach was sometimes mockingly called) from the rest of Whiterun.
The transition was palpable. Up high, it was stone, cold authority, and distant light. Down low, where the common folk lived and worked, the air was thicker with the scent of woodsmoke, old ale, and the sharp tang of cooling metal from the forge.
Lupin, sensing the shift from formal tension to the more familiar buzz of city life, trotted ahead slightly, its tail giving a few curious, soft swishes.
They reached the market square again. Where chaos had reigned just an hour or two ago, now there was only silence. The stalls were mostly shuttered, their produce covered by thick canvas tarps, making the market look like a field of squat, sleeping shapes.
Aerion skirted the silent forms, his gaze naturally falling toward the center of the city, drawn by the sound of a lute and the warmer glow spilling from the windows of the Bannered Mare.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door of the inn, the sound of the latch clicking loudly in the brief silence before the interior noise swallowed it up. The air inside was wonderfully thick, warm, and comforting, a blend of roasted meat, stale mead, spilled beer, and dozens of unwashed Nord bodies packed into close proximity.
The Bannered Mare was the heart of Whiterun, and tonight, it was pulsing strongly.
Aerion took a moment to visually scan the room, cataloging the occupants as his Altmer mind demanded a thorough threat assessment, though his human side was merely curious about the local flavor.
The common room was bustling. Several patrons were scattered at the rough wooden tables, mostly massive Nords, their faces weathered and their voices loud, interspersed with a few quieter Imperials and Bretons huddled over their drinks.
In a far corner, a familiar figure in full, rugged IronArmor sat alone, slowly draining a tankard. That would be Sinmir, the Nord warrior who often spent his time here, complaining about how an embarrassment Whiterun's securities is, especially it's commander.
Near the central hearth, a tall Imperial man in the distinctive Whiterun guard armor with it's yellow cloth stood speaking quietly to a burly Nord man. Aerion immediately pegged the Imperial as CommanderCaius, the de facto captain of the city watch, whose presence lent an air of restrained order to the establishment, even though the man was a bit far from it.
But Aerion's gaze was quickly drawn to the counter area, the central axis of the inn.
Behind the counter stood Hulda, who was wiping down the wood counter with a massive cloth. And sitting right at the counter, a plate of stew before her, was a small girl, Mila, enjoying the stew. Beside Mila sat her mother, Carlotta, her strong, attractive face animated as she spoke quietly with Hulda.
The mother and daughter were sharing a moment of warmth and food after their long day, a domestic scene utterly normal in its context.
The last key figure was the source of the music. Perched on a stool near the hearth, plucking an irritatingly upbeat tune on his lute, was Mikael the Bard.
He wore clothing that, while finer than the laborers' rags, was still faded and theatrical, and he possessed the self satisfied grin of a man who believed his talent was far greater than the world gave him credit for.
Aerion moved forward, gliding through the noise, with Lupin following, navigating the maze of chairs and tankards with the ease of a shadow.
He was aiming for the counter when the exact scene he had anticipated and secretly hoped for, as it provided his cue, unfolded.
Mikael, catching sight of Carlotta enjoying a moment of peace, decided his art was incomplete without his favorite muse. He ceased playing his current tune with a dramatic flourish that earned him a groan from the Nord patrons and sauntered over, his lute still clutched like a weapon.
"Ah, Carlotta, my lioness of the market!" Mikael cooed, attempting a deep, resonant tone that cracked slightly on the word 'market.' "Your beauty shines even in this dreary light, a star eclipsed only by the setting sun of your workday! I have composed a new ode, dedicated to the sublime curve of your lips—"
Carlotta cut him off with the surgical precision of a mother dealing with a fussy child. She didn't even turn her head fully, just offered a cold, dismissive shoulder.
"Mikael, for the hundredth time this week, I am not interested in your ode, your lips, or anything else you have composed," Carlotta said, her voice strained with fatigue and annoyance. She gently nudged Mila's arm. "Eat your stew, sweetheart. Ignore the windbag."
Mikael's self satisfaction deflated into wounded pride, but he was nothing if not persistently irritating. He moved closer, leaning his elbow onto the counter, effectively trapping Carlotta.
"But my dear, you wound me! Can a man not offer his admiration? You are a treasure, too precious to be spending your evenings here with the serving folk. I could offer you refinement, poetry, a life filled with music!" he insisted, gesturing with the neck of his lute.
Carlotta finally turned, her dark eyes flashing with genuine anger. "I have a life, Mikael. I have a daughter, and a business, and I spend my evenings here because it is warm and Hulda is my friend. And I don't need your refinement. Now move. You're blocking my soup and bothering my daughter."
Hulda, sensing the imminent escalation that often resulted in broken chairs, stepped in, her apron taut with irritation. "Mikael! I have told you a dozen times. Leave the lady be! She's here to eat, not to be serenaded. Go back to your singing or I'll find a way to make sure that you wouldn't be the only bard here anymore!"
Mikael ignored Hulda, his focus entirely on Carlotta, resorting to a slightly pathetic, manipulative tactic. "But Carlotta, think of Mila! She needs a father figure! Someone to teach her the finer arts, to appreciate the beauty of rhythm and verse!"
Mila, thankfully oblivious, looked up from her stew long enough to stick her tongue out at the bard, an action that earned a small, proud smile from her mother.
It was exactly the moment Aerion needed. The situation was tense, public, and Mikael had crossed the line from annoying admirer to persistent harasser.
Aerion stepped beside the Imperial guard, Caius, and gave the man a quick, respectful nod before continuing his approach to the counter. He moved deliberately, inserting himself not violently, but decisively, directly between Mikael and Carlotta.
He placed his hands on the counter, positioning his tall, slender frame so that Mikael had to look around him to see Carlotta. The bard was immediately thrown off by the sudden, intimidating presence of the pale High Elf. Lupin, sensing his master's intention, stopped directly at Aerion's heel and let out a soft, low growl, fixing his intelligent amber eyes on Mikael's shin.
Aerion didn't raise his voice, relying instead on the inherent authority his height and race projected, amplified by his confidence that he have gained the Balgruuf's approval. He spoke to Mikael with the clinical, cutting tone he used when delivering cold truth, yet tempered by the strategic nuance he had learned not to use with Carlotta.
"The lady has made herself perfectly clear, Bard," Aerion stated, his gaze level and unblinking. He didn't use an aggressive stance, just a presence so overwhelming that it demanded attention. "She is not interested in your company, your poetry, or your proposals. She is here to relax and dine with her daughter, and you are creating an environment that is neither relaxing nor conducive to dining."
Mikael, who usually dealt with angry Nords through exaggerated apologies or witty retreat, was faced with an entirely different problem, an Altmer mage with ice in his voice and an a strange angry looking fox at his feet. His bravado immediately curdled into defensiveness.
"And who, pray tell, are you?" Mikael sneered, trying to recover his footing. "Some arrogant gold skinned High Elf mage come to tell a true Nord artist how to ply his trade? This is none of your business, Elf. Go back to your books!"
Aerion allowed a small, cold smile to touch his lips. He used the name he had offered earlier, but gave it the weight of his new standing.
"My name is Aerion. I am a proud resident of Whiterun, accepted here by Jarl Balgruuf himself, and currently contracted by the city to deal with threats larger than yourself," Aerion replied, making sure the Jarl's name carried the necessary authority. He paused, letting the significance of the Jarl's contract sink in. "And you are correct, Bard. This is not my business. However, I consider myself a man of my word."
He glanced over his shoulder at Carlotta, offering a polite, minimal bow of his head. "Earlier today, Carlotta was deeply offended by my lack of decorum. I apologized for my arrogance, and in return, I offered her a courtesy, that if I encountered her persistent tormentor, I would have a persuasive word with him."
He turned back to Mikael, the coldness in his eyes intensifying. "This is that persuasive word, Bard. You have been told by the owner of this tavern to stop, you have been told by the object of your affection to stop, and now, you are being told by a bounty hunter enlisted by the Jarlt to stop. Cease bothering Carlotta Valentia. Do not approach her stall, do not approach her at the Bannered Mare, and do not attempt to speak to her or her daughter again. If you choose to ignore this warning, I assure you, the consequences will be less poetic and far more permanent than any song you have ever sing."
Mikael paled visibly. The mention of the Jarl, the cold threat of consequences, and the intelligent, low snarl from Lupin were enough. He clutched his lute defensively to his chest, stammering.
"I.... I meant no harm! Just admiration! I… I shall return to my duties."
He scuttled backward, nearly tripping over a chair, and practically dove back toward his stool by the fire, where he immediately began violently strumming his lute, drowning his embarrassment in a chaotic explosion of chords.
As Mikael retreated, Aerion felt another familiar, powerful wave of energy surge through his mind.
A flash of light erupted in his vision.
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to Level 19!]
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to Level 20!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 11!]
Aerion quickly navigated the internal menu, knowing exactly where to put the newly earned Attribute Point. His combat strategy relied heavily on high cost destruction magic, meaning his Magicka pool was always the most critical resource.
He placed the point into Magicka, instantly feeling the reservoir of arcane energy within his body deepen and solidify.
[Magicka increased by 10 points. Current Magicka: 250/250]
A silence briefly fell over the counter area. Hulda let out a relieved, gusty sigh. Carlotta stared at Aerion, her expression shifting from astonishment to something cautiously appreciative.
"Well," Carlotta said slowly, resting her hand on Mila's shoulder. "That was… effective. Thank you, Aerion. You certainly keep your promises. I'm impressed."
"I aim to be dependable, Carlotta," Aerion said simply, the matter settled. He stepped fully to the counter, addressing Hulda. "Hulda, I apologize for creating a spectacle, I promise it would never happened again."
"No problem course, dearie," Hulda replied, shaking her head at the lingering bard. "You have done my friend a favor. Perhaps your presence will keep the rest of the troublemakers in line."
Aerion smiled at that. He then turned slightly back to Carlotta. "I hope your meal is more peaceful now."
Carlotta smiled, a genuine, warm smile that transformed her face and was infinitely more striking than her guarded beauty in the market light. "It is. Much more peaceful. And Aerion?"
"Yes, Carlotta?"
"Thank you. Truly."
Aerion nodded, accepting her gratitude, knowing that the small investment had paid off handsomely in local reputation and potential future goodwill.
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 160/160 Stamina: 140/140 Magicka: 250/250 Level: 11
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level 21/22), Persuasion (Level 20), Smithing (Level 9), Sneak (Level 13), One Handed (Level 7), Restoration (Healing) (Level 7), Two Handed (Level 8), Lockpicking (Level 9), Archery (Level 7), & Alteration (Level 4)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Pouch = 330 Septims
1x Steel Dagger, Iron Shield, Long Bow, Potions of Minor Stamina, Philter of Lockpicking, Steel Warhammer, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Copper and Onyx Circlet, Steel Mace, & Mammoth Tusk
2x Gold Garnet Rings, Gold Ring, & Scroll Of Fireball
3x Silver Garnet Rings, Silver Rings, Sapphire, & Amethyst
4x Lockpicks, Potions of Minor Magicka, & Ruby
6x Potions Of Minor Healing
8x Iron Arrows
Weight: 75 KG / 370 KG
Septims = 26,606