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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Indeed it does," Aerion laughed smoothly, the lie perfectly secured. "But as you just witnessed, I find that a heavy purse of gold ensures even the most brutal mercenary can learn to love the intricacies of laying a stone foundation."
The heavy clanking of solid iron fittings settling onto the floorboards of the arcane laboratory was quickly followed by the heavy, armored footsteps of the three mercenaries stepping back out into the main living space of the Tundra Homestead.
Gwaering the Bosmer, having flawlessly picked up the subtle, overarching context of Aerion's loud explanation, stepped into the room with an easy, highly convincing smile plastered across his face. Signy Deep-Winter and Valdar followed closely behind, their expressions carefully schooling into the look of satisfied, well paid laborers rather than lethal shock troops.
"I have to say, my lady," Gwaering chimed in smoothly, addressing Ysolda directly while subtly reinforcing Aerion's cover story. "Your friend here is quite literally the most generous patron that has ever hired our crew for a contract."
The Bosmer archer walked over to the bar counter, leaning casually against the polished wood. "Just like you saw, he hands out tips and bonuses here and there for a job well done. It might seem small to a wealthy estate owner, but for wandering laborers like us, it is incredibly helpful. It keeps the bellies full and the tools sharp so we can continue making a living out here in the dirt."
Ysolda, entirely captivated by the charm of the High Elf and eager to validate his good character, nodded her head vigorously. A bright, beaming smile illuminated her features.
"I completely agree," Ysolda declared, her voice filled with genuine, unshakeable conviction. "Aerion is an incredibly kind man. Especially considering the rigid stereotypes most people hold regarding High Elves. He has been nothing but honorable and generous since the day he arrived in Whiterun. I absolutely believe every word you say about how he treats his workers."
Gwaering, Signy, and Valdar paused.
As seasoned, highly observant mercenaries who made their living reading the subtle body language of bounties and employers, the absolute, starry-eyed excitement radiating from the Nord woman was impossible to miss.
They all knew exactly who she was, Ysolda, the new, highly ambitious co owner of the Bannered Mare. She was a shrewd, calculating merchant who usually guarded her emotions like a bandit hoarded gold.
But seeing her practically vibrating with excitement while talking about their Patron, her cheeks flushed with a delicate pink hue... the realization hit the three mercenaries instantly.
She is completely smitten with him, Gwaering thought, fighting the urge to smirk.
Knowing that their employer, despite his terrifying magical power, possessed a rather dry, pragmatic sense of humor when he wasn't incinerating people, the mercenaries decided it was safe to poke the bear just a fraction of an inch.
Valdar, the hulking Nord warrior, caught Aerion's eye.
He subtly, deliberately raised a thick eyebrow, offering a slow, knowing nod toward Ysolda. Gwaering followed suit, flashing a quick, highly amused smirk that communicated volumes. You work fast, Patron. Aerion did not share their amusement.
His golden eyes snapped toward the three mercenaries, narrowing into a flat, freezing, utterly terrifying glare. The temperature in the room didn't actually drop, but the sheer, lethal weight of the look promised endless, agonizing hours of latrine duty if they uttered a single teasing syllable aloud.
The mercenaries instantly swallowed their smirks, their posture snapping back to rigid professionalism. Message received.
Aerion smoothly shifted his gaze back to Ysolda, the freezing glare instantly melting into a warm, polite smile.
"You flatter me, Ysolda," Aerion murmured humbly. "And you will undoubtedly have the opportunity to meet the entire crew of these wandering laborers sooner rather than later. Building the list I just says requires a massive workforce. I did not merely hire these three, I contracted an entire company."
Ysolda's merchant curiosity piqued. She tilted her head, looking at the heavily armored laborers.
"An entire company?" Ysolda asked, looking back up at Aerion. "How exactly did you come to know about this specific group? I spend my days behind the counter of the Bannered Mare. I know nearly every mercenary, sellsword, and caravan guard that enters the gates of Whiterun looking for contract work, but I do not recognize them."
It was a perfectly logical question from a woman who controlled the city's primary social hub. Aerion's hyper analytical mind wove the lore flawlessly, ensuring there were no loose threads for her to pull.
"That is because they do not operate within the city walls, Ysolda," Aerion explained, his voice calm and entirely believable. "They are a relatively new outfit, strictly avoiding the politics of the Jarl's court. Their leader is a man named Sinmir. If you recall, he is the rather burly, heavily armored Nord who used to spend his days in the Mare, constantly complaining about the city guards being undisciplined and slightly corrupt."
Ysolda's eyes widened in sudden recognition. The puzzle pieces clicked together perfectly in her mind.
"Sinmir!" Ysolda exclaimed softly. "Of course I remember him. He was famous for nursing a single tankard of ale for hours just to loudly critique the Commander of the Guard to anyone who would listen."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it... after you and I acquired the Mare, he practically vanished. Even during Hulda's final days of Hulda ownership, leading up to our purchase, he was seen less and less in the taproom. I had simply assumed he moved on to Solitude."
Ysolda smiled, entirely convinced by the narrative. "So, instead of merely complaining, he finally took the initiative to create his own private company. And they exclusively offer their services outside the city walls. What a massive surprise. I suppose he finally found an outlet for his frustrations."
"Indeed he did," Aerion nodded, matching her tone of mild, conversational surprise. "I was quite surprised myself when I first encountered them. Jenassa and I were riding past Pelagia Farm on our way out to the tundra. Sinmir had made a highly pragmatic deal with Severio Pelagia. In exchange for providing absolute, dedicated protection for the crops against bandits and wandering beasts, his men were given permission to utilize the large storehouse at the back of the farm as their temporary barracks."
"It is a brilliant arrangement," Ysolda praised the business acumen. "Severio gets a private army to guard his wheat, and Sinmir secures free lodging for his men without paying the city gate tax."
With the alibi completely, flawlessly cemented in the mind of Whiterun's most prominent gossip hub, Aerion turned back to the mercenaries.
"Gwaering, Signy, Valdar," Aerion commanded smoothly. "Your task in the laboratory is complete. You are dismissed to begin your exterior patrols. Walk the perimeter of the homestead, and then rotate back to Pelagia Farm to relieve the others."
"Yes, Patron," Gwaering nodded respectfully.
The three mercenaries offered a polite bow to Ysolda before turning and exiting the heavy oak doors, stepping back out into the bright afternoon sun to begin securing the borders of the estate.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Ysolda looked around the cozy, fire lit living room, and then glanced out the window at the angle of the sun.
"As much as I have absolutely loved seeing your new home, Aerion," Ysolda sighed, a genuine note of reluctance in her voice, "I really must be getting back to the city. The afternoon rush will be starting soon, and I cannot leave Hulda to manage the drunks and the bards entirely on her own for the entire day."
"A proprietor's duty is never truly finished," Aerion agreed softly. He walked over to where his dark, heavy traveling cloak was resting over a chair and draped it over his shoulders. "I shall escort you back to the city gates immediately."
Ysolda smiled brightly. "Thank you."
Aerion turned his attention to the Dark Elf, who was still sitting quietly by the fire, methodically polishing her dagger.
"Jenassa," Aerion instructed. "Remain here at the homestead. Keep an eye on Lupin, and ensure the returning procurement teams stack their lumber and stone properly. I will return shortly after seeing our guest safely home."
Jenassa paused her polishing, looking up with a perfectly blank, professional expression. "I will hold the fort, Patron. Ride safe."
Aerion and Ysolda stepped out of the homestead, locking the heavy iron deadbolt behind them.
The massive black destrier, Revan, was waiting patiently in the shade of the stable overhang. Aerion effortlessly hoisted Ysolda up onto the thick leather padding of the saddle before swinging his own long frame up in front of her.
"Hold tight," Aerion murmured.
Ysolda didn't need to be told twice. She wrapped her arms securely around his waist, pressing herself against the dense, comforting warmth of his back.
They rode out onto the cobblestone path, heading west toward the towering silhouette of Dragonsreach. The ride back was quieter than the journey out. The comfortable silence of two people who had successfully navigated the awkwardness of a new dynamic settled over them. The rhythmic sound of the hooves, the sway of the horse, and the crisp, clean air of the tundra made the short journey feel incredibly peaceful.
All too soon, the high stone walls of Whiterun loomed above them.
Aerion guided Revan off the main road and pulled the massive beast to a halt in the packed dirt courtyard of the Whiterun Stables.
Skulvar Sable-Hilt, ever attentive, immediately walked out to take the reins.
Aerion dismounted smoothly, his boots hitting the dirt with a soft thud. He turned around, reaching up to grasp Ysolda firmly by the waist. With effortless strength, he lifted her down from the towering horse, setting her gently onto the ground.
He didn't immediately let go of her waist, and she didn't immediately step back. They stood incredibly close for a moment in the shadow of the stable walls.
Ysolda looked up into his golden eyes, her own bright blue eyes shining with a mixture of profound gratitude and budding affection.
"Thank you, Aerion," Ysolda said softly, her voice barely louder than the wind. "Not just for the ride, or for defending me last night... but for the time we spent today. Thank you for making the effort to truly explore this feeling. I know it is a risk for a man who travels as much as you do."
Aerion smiled, a gentle, highly genuine expression that softened the sharp, aristocratic angles of his face.
"It is exactly what I should do if I wish to explore it honestly, Ysolda," Aerion replied, his melodic voice incredibly warm. "And to be perfectly frank with you... I am finding the exploration to be a very, very good experience."
Hearing the direct, unambiguous admission that he was actively enjoying their courtship, a massive, brilliant, overwhelming smile broke across Ysolda's face. The last lingering shreds of her Nordic merchant caution completely evaporated, entirely replaced by the sheer, intoxicating bravery of a woman in love.
Before Aerion could say another word, Ysolda surged forward.
She threw her arms tightly around his neck and pulled herself flush against his chest in a sudden, fierce, and incredibly tight embrace.
For a fraction of a second, Aerion's hyper vigilant, battle hardened reflexes flared. His body tensed, the sheer surprise of the sudden physical contact catching him entirely off guard. Despite his 420 health and his ability to slow time, he was emotionally outflanked.
But then, he relaxed. He slowly brought his own long arms up, gently wrapping them around her waist, returning the embrace.
She felt incredibly small against his towering frame, but her grip was fiercely strong.
Before he could fully process the sensation, Ysolda abruptly released him. She stepped back, her face flushed a brilliant, burning shade of absolute crimson.
"I—I must go! The inn!" Ysolda stammered rapidly, her words tripping over themselves in a sudden panic of embarrassment at her own boldness. "Goodbye, Aerion! I will see you soon!"
She didn't wait for a response. She spun around on her heel and practically sprinted up the winding stone path toward the massive wooden gates of the city, her green dress swishing rapidly around her ankles.
Aerion stood near the horses, watching her retreat, entirely bemused.
However, they were not alone in the world. The embrace had occurred in the middle of the busy stable yard, in broad daylight, surrounded by the afternoon traffic of the capital.
"Ooh wee! Looks like the golden boy bagged a local!"
A loud, piercing, highly obnoxious whistle echoed from a passing Khajiit caravan guard, followed by a chorus of teasing, raucous laughter from a group of sellswords resting near the water troughs.
"Hey, Elf! Hope you've got the stamina of a mammoth to keep a Nord woman happy!" a burly lumberjack jeered from the back of a passing cart.
But not all the reactions were good natured teasing.
"Disgusting," a low, venomous voice muttered from a group of heavily armored, bearded men wearing the blue sashes of Stormcloak sympathizers. "A true daughter of Skyrim, throwing herself at a piece of Elven trash. Makes my blood boil. He probably put a charm spell on her."
"Keep walking, Hrolf," another muttered darkly. "The guards are watching."
Aerion heard every single whistle, every jeer, and every racist, venomous insult with crystal clarity.
He didn't draw the Black Prism. He didn't turn around and incinerate the Stormcloak sympathizers where they stood. He simply ignored them with the absolute, untouchable disdain of a god looking down at insects. Their opinions were entirely irrelevant to the grand architecture of his reality.
Instead, as he stood in the dirt, Aerion focused on a highly unexpected, lingering detail.
He could still feel the phantom warmth of her embrace against his chest. But more profoundly, he could smell her.
Despite spending her entire life working in the Bannered Mare, an establishment that permanently reeked of spilled ale, roasting meats, pipe smoke, and the unwashed sweat of mercenaries, Ysolda did not smell like a tavern.
She smelled like crushed lavender and blooming tundra cotton.
She wore perfume, Aerion realized, a slow, highly appreciative smile touching his lips. She had purposefully, meticulously prepared for their morning together. It was a subtle, deeply endearing detail that confirmed exactly how seriously she was taking this.
With that pleasant thought anchoring his mind, Aerion grabbed the reins of his destrier. He swung effortlessly back into the heavy leather saddle.
"I shall return later this evening, Skulvar," Aerion called out to the stablemaster, completely ignoring the whispering crowd.
With a flick of the reins, Aerion rode Revan out of the stable yard, turning the massive beast east and galloping back toward the Tundra Homestead.
The sun was beginning its slow descent toward the jagged western peaks when Aerion finally arrived back at his estate.
The scene outside the homestead was vastly different than how he had left it.
Parked heavily in the packed dirt clearing before the house was a massive, reinforced wooden logging cart, its heavy iron wheels sunk slightly into the earth. Hitched to the front were two exhausted, heavily lathered draft horses.
And stacked high upon the cart was a mountain of raw, freshly sawn timber. Thick, heavy pine logs designed for sinking deep palisades, alongside hundreds of perfectly cut, treated wooden planks intended for the storehouses and barracks.
Standing near the cart, drinking deeply from a leather waterskin, was Team One.
Uthgerd the Unbroken, Torsten Iron-Arm, and Runa Shield-Breaker had successfully returned from their massive procurement run to the village of Riverwood.
Hearing the heavy approach of the black destrier, the three mercenaries turned around.
"Patron!" Torsten greeted loudly, wiping a splatter of water from his chin.
Aerion brought Revan to a halt and dismounted, surveying the sheer volume of wood with deep satisfaction.
"Welcome back," Aerion greeted them smoothly. "It appears your journey down the mountain was highly successful. Were you able to procure a favorable deal from the mill owners for the bulk order?"
Uthgerd let out a loud, frustrated grunt, crossing her massive, steel plated arms over her chest.
"Successful, yes. Favorable? Barely," Uthgerd complained, her voice a harsh, gravelly rasp. "Hod and his wife, Gerdur, are stubborn as mules. It was incredibly difficult to convince them to even process the order. They took one look at us and completely refused to believe our coin was legitimate. They thought we were a bandit crew trying to pull a fast one to build a fort in the woods."
Torsten Iron-Arm threw his head back and let out a massive, booming laugh that echoed across the plains.
"Of course they didn't believe us, boss!" Torsten chuckled, pointing a thick finger at his heavily armored companion. "Look at her! Uthgerd marched right into Gerdur's house wearing full steel plate armor, covered in road dust, and slammed a massive bag of gold onto her dining table like she was a bandit chief demanding protection money! She looked absolutely terrifying. The poor woman probably thought she was going to be extorted!"
Runa Shield-Breaker chuckled softly from the side, shaking her head. "It is true, Patron. Uthgerd's negotiation tactics consist entirely of glaring menacingly until the other party surrenders."
Uthgerd scowled, her hand resting on the pommel of her battleaxe. "I secured the wood, didn't I? The logs are here. The method is irrelevant."
Aerion let out a rich, genuine chuckle, thoroughly enjoying the building camaraderie and the rough, mercenary banter among his troops.
"The results are indeed undeniable, Uthgerd," Aerion praised, diffusing her annoyance. "You have secured the foundation of our expansion. Excellent work, all of you. Now, leave the cart here for the carpenters to process tomorrow. Disperse and begin your perimeter patrols, and ensure the shifts at Pelagia Farm are maintained."
"Yes, Patron," the three mercenaries chorused. They grabbed their weapons and marched off toward the golden grass of the plains, leaving Aerion alone with the massive pile of timber.
Aerion walked up the wooden steps and pushed open the front door of the homestead.
The interior was warm and quiet. Jenassa was exactly where he had left her, sitting by the roaring hearth, though she was now methodically oiling the leather straps of her armor. Lupin was awake, happily chewing on the core of his third apple near the fire pit.
Jenassa looked up as Aerion closed the heavy door behind him. "The merchant is safely returned to her ledgers, Patron?"
"She is," Aerion confirmed, walking toward the bar counter and removing his heavy traveling cloak. "And the procurement teams have been highly successful. The iron and the timber have arrived. The stone should follow shortly. By tomorrow morning, the construction of the mammoth pens and the barracks will officially begin."
He poured himself a goblet of water from a nearby pitcher, taking a long, refreshing drink before turning back to his bodyguard. His expression shifted from the relaxed demeanor of a landowner back to the cold, calculating focus of a transmigrated warlord.
"However," Aerion stated, his voice taking on a serious, tactical cadence. "We cannot allow ourselves to become entirely complacent while the laborers dig holes. Once the mammoth farm is fully operational and the passive income stream is secured, we are packing our gear and riding out. We are hea1ding far to the northwest."
Jenassa paused her oiling, looking up with genuine surprise.
"To the northwest?" Jenassa repeated, her brow furrowing. "Patron... that is the direction of Haafingar. Are we heading to the capital? Solitude?"
Aerion shook his head slowly. "Not Solitude itself. But the mountains surrounding it. We are riding to Mount Kilkreath."
Jenassa's crimson eyes widened as the realization hit her. The memory of Aerion getting the blinding white light in his consciousness, the terrifying telepathic voice he exchanged with, and the glowing geometric orb in the icy crypt rushed back.
"Meridia's Temple," Jenassa whispered, an involuntary shiver running down her spine. "You intend to fulfill the mandate of the Daedric Prince?"
"I intend to eliminate a massive, looming variable from my operational calculations," Aerion corrected coldly.
He walked over to the fire, staring into the flames. "We cannot simply ignore their commands and expect no consequences. The longer that Beacon sits in my spatial inventory, the longer Meridia's divine gaze remains fixed upon us. I do not want an immortal cosmic entity constantly monitoring my movements, waiting for me to act as her instrument."
Aerion clenched his fist slightly. In reality, leaving an active "quest" sitting in his metaphorical log, especially one tied to a god, was a massive tactical vulnerability. He needed to be free to manipulate the Dragonborn and the civil war without the interference of Oblivion.
"The sooner we march into that temple, burn away her necrotic shadows, and place her artifact upon its pedestal," Aerion concluded, his voice hard as iron, "the sooner Meridia will consider the contract fulfilled and turn her blinding light elsewhere. We are going to sever the leash before she even realizes it is tied."
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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: 78,379