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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Aerion stepped back up to the polished wood, offering her a soft, entirely genuine smile. "Now then, Ysolda," Aerion asked, his voice melodic and calm, as if the brawl had never happened. "I believe I am quite parched from my travels. May I trouble you for a flagon of the finest mead?"
Ysolda stared at the towering High Elf standing before her, the adrenaline of the sudden violence still racing through her veins. When Aerion politely asked for a flagon of mead, his voice as calm as a placid lake, the stark contrast between his aristocratic charm and the brutal, flawless physical takedown he had just executed caused her to stammer.
"I... of course! Right away," Ysolda nodded rapidly, her auburn hair bouncing. "Come, take a seat, Aerion."
Aerion turned and walked toward the empty wooden stools situated directly adjacent to the main bar counter.
As he moved, a profound, highly visible shift in the tavern's social dynamic occurred. The patrons standing in his path, burly lumberjacks, hardened caravan guards, and grizzled mercenaries, immediately, and silently, parted ways to let him through.
They looked at him with an entirely new, deeply cautious respect. Every patron in the Bannered Mare knew exactly who Vald was. The man was a mountain of muscle, a former adventurer who had survived the frozen wastes only to lose himself in the bottom of a wine bottle.
He was incredibly mean, and notoriously strong, especially when blinded by cheap spirits. For a slender, robed High Elf to not only catch his full force haymaker barehanded, but to physically dismantle him and choke him out using pure, terrifying leverage, was a paradigm shift.
They now realized that the golden skinned mage didn't even need his destructive magic to break them in half.
Consequently, the stools immediately surrounding Aerion remained completely empty. No one dared to sit beside the apex predator of the room.
Aerion took his seat gracefully, resting his long arms on the polished wood of the counter, entirely unfazed by the surrounding crowd.
Ysolda hurried over, placing a heavy, foaming wooden flagon of premium Honningbrew Mead directly in front of him.
"Thank you, Ysolda," Aerion smiled warmly, taking a slow, appreciative sip of the sweet, fermented honey.
Ysolda leaned against the counter, her hands wringing her apron slightly. The immediate danger was gone, leaving only the rushing, fluttering realization of what he had just done for her.
"You shouldn't have done that, you know," Ysolda began, her voice taking on a tone of gentle, affectionate reprimand. "I could have handled him. Or the guards would have stepped in eventually. Vald is a massive, dangerous fool, Aerion. Engaging him in a physical brawl... it was incredibly reckless."
Despite her scolding words, the deep, vivid shade of crimson had returned to her cheeks, and her bright eyes betrayed her true feelings. She was profoundly, undeniably moved by the actions he have done.
"It is a dangerous thing you did," she continued, her voice softening considerably. "But... thank you. Truly. No one has ever stood up for my honor quite like that before."
Aerion set his flagon down, his golden eyes locking onto hers. He didn't offer a dismissive, arrogant wave. He listened to her.
"I will take your words to heart in the future, Ysolda," Aerion replied gently, his melodic voice meant only for her ears. "I assure you, recklessness is rarely in my nature. But I simply could not stand by and allow that drunken fool to spew another syllable of venom in your direction. Your dignity is worth vastly more than avoiding a tavern scuffle."
Ysolda smiled happily, the knot of anxiety in her chest entirely unraveling.
"I know," Ysolda murmured, her blush deepening. "But please, let us promise that in the future, we simply signal the guards and have such fools kicked out of the inn before they swing. It is vastly better for the glassware."
She leaned in slightly closer, the ambient scent of lavender soap and tavern smoke wafting from her skin. She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes darting quickly toward the patrons across the room.
"Besides," Ysolda whispered, a teasing glint in her eye. "What if you had accidentally let it slip that you were the co owner of the establishment during your grand defense? I thought you wanted your equity share in the Mare to remain an absolute, guarded secret from the public?"
Aerion nodded slowly. "I do. The shadows are vastly more profitable than the spotlight."
As he looked at her conspiratorial smile, Aerion felt a sudden, profound wave of genuine, uncalculated warmth bloom in the center of his chest. It was a stark, jarring departure from the cold, sociopathic gamer logic that usually dictated his interactions.
Having someone who genuinely cared for his well being, someone who actively protected his secrets not out of fear, but out of mutual partnership and affection, was a deeply comforting sensation in this harsh, blood soaked world.
The heavy, ethical dilemma he had wrestled with at the Tundra Homestead suddenly felt incredibly clear. The decision he had made to genuinely explore this connection was turning out to be the right one.
Before he could articulate his thoughts, a heavy wooden chair scraped loudly against the floorboards right beside him.
Hulda, the older, fiercely pragmatic former owner of the Bannered Mare, unceremoniously dropped herself onto the stool directly to Aerion's left. She held a half empty tankard of ale in her weathered hand.
"Well struck, Elf," Hulda praised bluntly, taking a heavy sip of her ale. "I was halfway across the room, reaching for the iron skillet behind the fire pit, getting ready to brain Vald myself. But since you handled the heavy lifting and put the drunken vermin to sleep, I can rest my aching knees."
Aerion smiled politely at the older Nord woman. "It was entirely my responsibility, Hulda. One must always handle the vermin when a lady is insulted."
Hulda let out a loud, barking laugh, slamming her tankard onto the counter. She looked from Aerion's calm, aristocratic face to Ysolda's bright red, blushing cheeks. The veteran tavern keeper's eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered amusement.
"Is that right?" Hulda teased, her voice loud enough to make Ysolda jump. "Well, from where I'm sitting, it looks like our mysterious, wandering mage has finally grown warm to the idea of exploring the very obvious feelings our girl here has for him, hasn't he?"
Ysolda let out a sharp, horrified gasp. The crimson blush on her face instantly intensified to a shade that rivaled a freshly picked nirnroot.
"Hulda!" Ysolda scolded fiercely, frantically looking around to see if anyone had heard the older woman's booming declaration. "By the Divines, keep your voice down! You cannot simply say such incredibly inappropriate things in the middle of the taproom!"
Ysolda turned back to Aerion, her hands waving frantically in front of her apron as she practically tripped over her own words in a desperate attempt to apologize.
"Aerion, please, I am so incredibly sorry," Ysolda stammered, her eyes wide with sheer panic. "She has had too much ale. Please ignore her, she is just teasing, she doesn't know what she is saying—"
"It is perfectly alright, Ysolda," Aerion interrupted smoothly, a warm, genuine chuckle rumbling in his chest.
He didn't deflect the comment. He didn't retreat behind the cold, untouchable mask of the Altmer scholar. He leaned his elbow on the bar counter, his golden eyes holding Ysolda's panicked gaze with absolute, calming sincerity.
"I am not nearly as uptight as the rest of my brethren back in the Summerset Isles," Aerion stated calmly, his melodic voice carrying a gentle weight. "And to answer your question, Hulda... yes. I would be very open to exploring exactly what you are suggesting."
The entire bar counter seemed to freeze.
Hulda paused mid sip, her ale tankard hovering near her mouth. She slowly lowered the wood, a massive, highly satisfied grin spreading across her weathered features. She let out a low, knowing chuckle.
Ysolda, on the other hand, looked as though her brain had just been struck by a master tier Destruction spell.
Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Her eyes widened to practically comical proportions. The frantic, nervous energy completely evaporated, replaced by a state of absolute, staggering shock.
The Mer that have filled her dreams, the towering, wealthy, incredibly powerful High Elf she had been silently pining for, had just openly, casually admitted he was willing to explore a romantic connection with her in the middle of a crowded tavern.
She stood absolutely frozen behind the counter, staring at him.
Aerion smiled gently, reaching out across the wood to lightly tap his fingertips against the back of her hand.
"Take a deep breath, Ysolda," Aerion instructed softly. "Calm yourself."
Ysolda blinked rapidly, the physical contact snapping her out of her stunned paralysis. She sucked in a massive, ragged breath of air, clutching the bar rag tightly to ground herself. Her face was still burning with an intense blush, but the panic had been replaced by a swelling, overwhelming wave of hope.
"Are... are you being serious, Aerion?" Ysolda whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Is what you just said... true?"
Aerion nodded his head slowly, his expression shifting into one of absolute, respectful honesty.
"It is entirely true, Ysolda," Aerion confirmed. "I would very much like to explore where this connection goes, and to see if a genuine affection can blossom between us."
He paused, ensuring his next words carried the necessary, pragmatic weight to protect them both.
"However," Aerion added, his tone growing serious. "I must also be perfectly clear with you from the very beginning. I am a traveler who has walked a very solitary path. I do not know the ending to this particular story. I would like to try. But if, in the end, I find that I cannot return your feelings with the depth and sincerity you truly deserve... I hope that you will understand. I hope that we possess the maturity to ensure that an unsuccessful romantic venture does not negatively impact our highly successful business partnership."
It was a boundary. A safety net. A frank, honest admission of the risks involved.
Hearing the caveat, the blinding, overwhelming romantic shock in Ysolda's eyes sobered up just a fraction. The starry eyed maiden retreated, and the sharp, calculating, incredibly ambitious Nordic merchant stepped forward.
She understood the terms perfectly. It was a risk. A massive emotional investment with no guaranteed return. But as a merchant, she had built her entire life on identifying opportunities and taking calculated leaps of faith.
"A chance," Ysolda murmured, a bright, brilliant, incredibly confident smile returning to her face. "A chance is all a good merchant ever needs, Aerion. I understand your terms perfectly. And I am incredibly happy to hear that you are willing to give me one."
Hulda, recognizing that the delicate emotional negotiations had successfully concluded, slapped her hands against her knees and stood up from her stool.
"Right then!" Hulda announced, waving a dismissive hand at the pair of them. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to get to know each other. I'm going to go check on the roasting spits in the back. I don't want to interrupt the personal time of my favorite business partners."
With a loud cackle, Hulda waddled away toward the kitchen area, leaving Aerion and Ysolda alone in their quiet, intimate bubble amidst the roaring tavern.
Aerion took another sip of his mead, feeling a massive weight lift from his shoulders. The air had been cleared. The ethical dilemma had been resolved.
"Since we are officially embarking on this exploration," Aerion began smoothly, shifting the conversation to logistical planning. "I find myself in need of a vast amount of domestic supplies. My newly acquired property is entirely devoid of sustenance. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the morning market to help stock the Tundra Homestead?"
Ysolda's eyes lit up instantly. "I would be absolutely delighted to accompany you, Aerion."
She leaned forward, her curiosity entirely piqued. "And... may I also come with you to the homestead itself? I would very much like to see the estate you purchased from the Jarl. I hear the architecture is magnificent."
"It would be my pleasure to show you the grounds," Aerion nodded. He glanced around the bustling tavern. "But what of the Bannered Mare? Can you afford to step away from the counter for the entire morning?"
Ysolda waved a dismissive hand, the confident business owner entirely in her element. "Oh, do not worry about the Mare. Hulda is more than happy to step back behind the counter for a few hours, and Saadia and the other workers are highly capable of managing the morning rush. I can easily take the morning off for... external procurement."
"Then it is settled," Aerion smiled.
With the logistics planned, the two of them leaned against the bar counter and simply talked.
For the next two hours, the chaotic noise of the tavern faded into the background as they engaged in the delicate, fascinating dance of getting to know one another.
Aerion actively listened, discovering pieces of her personal lore that had never been written into the original game's code. Ysolda spoke of her childhood in Whiterun, her early fascination with the Khajiit caravans passing through the plains, and the fierce independence that had driven her to save every spare septim to buy her own establishment.
She was brilliant, driven by an unshakeable desire to prove that a woman could build an empire in a harsh land dominated by men with axes.
In return, Aerion knew he had to offer a piece of himself. He couldn't reveal the truth of his transmigration, so he utilized his encyclopedic lore knowledge to conjure a flawless, deeply compelling lie.
He spoke in quiet, slightly melancholic tones. He told her a fabricated tale of his upbringing in the crystalline towers of Alinor in the Summerset Isles. He described the suffocating, rigid doctrines of the Thalmor, and his growing disgust for their supremacist ideologies.
"I was a scholar who asked too many questions," Aerion lied smoothly, looking down at his mead to feign sorrow. "I refused to adhere to their strict, orthodox manipulation of magicka. I sought raw, untamed power. I sought freedom. And so, I was quietly, officially outcast. I left the golden shores of my homeland, wandering the continent until I found myself here, in the rugged, brutally honest wilds of Skyrim."
It was a masterclass in narrative manipulation. He painted himself not as an arrogant, conquering Altmer, but as a sympathetic, rebellious scholar seeking sanctuary among the Nords.
Ysolda listened with rapt attention, her eyes softening with genuine empathy. She reached out, gently touching his arm in a silent gesture of support.
Deep within his interface, the golden text cascaded rapidly.
[Persuasion (+1) Leveled Up 4 Times! Current Level: 34]
The lie had been swallowed whole, cementing his perfect cover story within the city's social fabric.
When the hour grew late, and the fire in the central pit began to burn down to glowing embers, Aerion finally stood up from his stool.
"The hour is late, Ysolda, and we have a busy market to navigate tomorrow," Aerion smiled, bowing his head respectfully.
"Goodnight, Aerion," Ysolda replied, her voice soft and incredibly warm. "I will see you in the morning."
Aerion goes to ascended the wooden stairs to the second floor. He entered his rented room, the familiar, comforting quiet washing over him. He removed his heavy dark robes, and collapsed onto the bed, sleep taking him almost instantly.
The next morning, the bright, crisp light of the autumn sun streamed through the wooden shutters of his window.
Aerion awoke feeling remarkably refreshed. He washed his face in the cold basin water, donned his immaculate dark robes, and secured the newly forged Black Prism to his hip.
He walked out of his room and descended the wooden stairs into the main taproom of the Bannered Mare.
The tavern was relatively quiet, the morning regulars eating in hushed tones.
Aerion looked toward the center of the room. Sitting at one of the sturdy wooden dining tables, already dressed in a beautiful, practical green dress suitable for the market, was Ysolda.
She had been waiting for him. Resting on the table in front of her were two steaming, wooden bowls of thick potato and leek soup, accompanied by two fresh loaves of bread and two bottles of chilled Black Briar mead.
Aerion walked over, a bright, genuine smile crossing his face. "Good morning, Ysolda. You are exceptionally prepared."
Ysolda looked up, her face breaking into a radiant smile that instantly warmed the room. "Good morning, Aerion. Please, sit. We should have a proper breakfast before we go out to battle the merchants in the market square."
"A highly needed tactical approach," Aerion agreed, pulling out the wooden chair across from her and taking his seat.
As Aerion picked up his wooden spoon, the heavy door of the rented room at the back of the inn clicked open.
Jenassa stepped out onto the inn, fully armored and ready for the day. The Dark Elf assassin looked down into the taproom. Her crimson eyes immediately locked onto the sight of her towering, god like employer sitting quietly at a table, sharing a warm bowl of soup and a soft smile with the local tavern owner.
A subtle, highly amused smirk touched the corner of Jenassa's scarred lips.
She understood the dynamic perfectly. She knew exactly when a bodyguard was required, and when a bodyguard was an absolute intrusion. Without saying a single word, Jenassa turned silently on her heel, walked past the inn, and headed straight for the back exit of the tavern at the kitchen, leaving the Patron to navigate his incredibly complex, newly established romantic foray in absolute peace.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 420/420 Stamina: 400/400 Magicka: 570/570
Level: 99
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+2)/Lightning(+1)/Frost) (Level 54/19/89), Restoration (Healing/Purify) (Level 76/MAX), Alteration (Level 35), Alteration (Level 20), Illusion (Level 42), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning) (Level 37/MAX), Persuasion(+1) (Level 30), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 33), One Handed (Level 76), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), & Feim (Fade)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Dragonstone, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Glass Sword, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Meridia's Beacon, & Deed to Tundra Homestead
2x Potion Of Ultimate Magicka, Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Elven Sword
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, & Black Soul Gems (Filled)
4x Potions of Minor Magicka & Spider Eggs
5x Lesser Soul Gem
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 74.39KG / 500 KG
Septims: 78,779