If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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The guards recognized him instantly, stepping aside allowing the heavily armed trio to enter the bustling city streets. A massive, genuinely happy smile spread across Aerion's flawless golden features as they began the familiar trek up the tiered streets toward the towering silhouette of Dragonsreach. He had successfully took advantage of the timeline, secured the Horn, stripped the Blades of their future narrative leverage, and gained a terrifying amount of personal power in the process.
As Aerion, Jenassa, Aeloria, and the tiny fox Lupin passed beneath the massive, imposing stone archway of Whiterun's main gates, the horrific, damp stench of ancient crypts and burning vampire flesh had completely faded from their memories. They navigated their way past the houses, stepping into the bustling, open air square of the Whiterun market.
The bustling Plains District was alive with the vibrant, chaotic energy of the midday trade. Merchants shouted their wares from colorful wooden stalls, traveling caravans unloaded heavy crates of fresh produce, and heavily armored guards patrolled the cobblestone streets with relaxed, measured paces.
However, as the three of them and the fox walked through the thoroughfare, they immediately became the absolute center of attention.
It wasn't just the towering, immaculate High Elf or the fiercely scarred Morag Tong assassin that drew the eyes of the townsfolk. It was Aeloria.
In a provincial city where the vast majority of the guards wore simple set of leather and iron armor, a towering Nord woman entirely encased in a masterfully forged, pristine set of heavy Steel Plate armor was an awe inspiring sight. The heavy steel sabatons clanked with terrifying, rhythmic authority against the cobblestones.
The sweeping horns of her steel helmet gave her a mythological, intimidating silhouette, and the heavy, rune etched Axe of Morthal strapped securely to her broad back practically radiated lethal intent.
Some people paused whatever their are doing to see, and traveling mercenaries offered deeply respectful nods of professional acknowledgment as she passed. Aeloria, ever the jovial spirit, simply beamed beneath her Steel Horned helmet, completely enjoying the newfound respect her armor commanded.
"Aerion!"
The bright, incredibly relieved voice cut clearly through the ambient noise of haggling merchants and clinking coins.
Standing near the fresh produce stalls, holding a woven basket of green apples, was Ysolda.
The young, auburn haired merchant and innkeeper looked absolutely radiant in the afternoon sun, her simple, elegant dress fluttering slightly in the warm breeze. Standing right beside her, carrying a crate of fresh cabbages for the tavern's stew pots, was Hulda, the sturdy, no nonsense former innkeeper of the Bannered Mare.
The moment Ysolda's bright green eyes landed on the towering High Elf, a massive, genuine smile of pure relief split her face. She practically dropped her basket, hurrying across the cobblestones to meet the group.
"You have finally returned!" Ysolda greeted him, her voice slightly breathless, her eyes rapidly scanning his immaculate dark robes. "I was beginning to worry! The caravans from the north spoke of terrible blizzards and unrest near Hjaalmarch. Are you alright? You don't have any injuries from your trip to Morthal, do you?"
Before Aerion could respond, Hulda stepped up behind the younger woman, letting out a loud, highly amused, slightly teasing whistle.
"Oh, let the mer breathe, Ysolda!" Hulda teased loudly, a wicked, motherly grin on her weathered face. She bumped Ysolda playfully, but firmly, with her shoulder. "He survived the barrows and the swamps, girl. You can stop pacing holes in the floorboards of the tavern now!"
Ysolda let out a sharp, embarrassed gasp. A brilliant, furious blush instantly rushed up her neck, coloring her cheeks a deep, vibrant crimson. She shot Hulda a desperate, wide eyed glare of betrayal, completely flustered by the public teasing.
Aerion looked down at the blushing, genuinely worried young woman, and let out a rich, warm chuckle that resonated deep within his chest.
Seeing her standing there, her face flushed with genuine, human worry for his safety, the pragmatic side in his mind went completely quiet.
'She is something else,' Aerion realized softly, a deep, genuine warmth blooming in his chest. 'The little bud of our affection has actually blossomed into a tree. And it is something I want to protect.'
Despite his hyper analytical nature constantly whispering about the political and economic benefits of securing her loyalty, Aerion consciously, willfully chose to let his genuine emotions dictate his response.
He wanted to nurture this relationship, to ensure it didn't wilt under the weight of his grand ambitions, but rather grew strong alongside them.
Aerion offered a smile that was not charmingly manufactured, but profoundly, genuinely soft.
"You have absolutely no need to worry, Ysolda," Aerion reassured her, his melodic voice dropping to an intimate, comforting register. "I am entirely unharmed. The trip was perilous, yes, but we handled the threats flawlessly. And even if I had sustained an injury, I am quite skilled in the restorative arts. I can mend my own wounds without issue. Your concern, however... is deeply appreciated."
The sincerity in his golden eyes made Ysolda's blush deepen, but her frantic worry completely melted away. She offered a bright, shy smile, nodding her head in relief.
"I am just glad you are safe," Ysolda murmured softly.
Her green eyes then drifted past the High Elf, conducting a rapid, merchant like assessment of his returning strike team.
She offered a polite, familiar nod to Jenassa.
The Morag Tong assassin returned the gesture with a silent incline of her head. Ysolda had seen Jenassa and Aerion interact frequently.
The sheer, terrifyingly cold professionalism that radiated from the Dark Elf assured Ysolda with almost absolute certainty that there was zero romantic development between the patron and his blade. Jenassa was a weapon, not a rival.
Then, Ysolda looked down. Lupin the fox let out a series of excited, high pitched yips, his bushy cinnamon tail thumping against the cobblestones as he recognized the woman who occasionally sneaked him scraps of sweetrolls.
But as Ysolda's gaze shifted upward again, it landed squarely on the towering, heavily armored figure standing to Aerion's right.
Aeloria, noticing the attention, reached up with her heavy steel gauntlets. With a smooth, metallic scrape, she unfastened the chin strap of her imposing Steel Horned Helmet and pulled it off, tucking it casually under her arm.
A cascade of thick, golden blonde hair tumbled down over her heavy steel pauldrons. The woman who haven't known will become the Dragonborn offered a massive, fiercely jovial, incredibly friendly smile, her bright, striking blue eyes shining with the easy confidence of a seasoned warrior.
Ysolda completely froze.
The young merchant's breath caught in her throat. She had entirely expected Aerion to return with heavily scarred mercenaries or grizzled veterans. She had absolutely not expected him to return traveling with a breathtakingly beautiful, vibrant Nord woman who looked like a literal mythological valkyrie.
An immediate, powerful spike of deep, instinctual insecurity pierced Ysolda's heart.
'Who is she?' Ysolda thought, her mind racing defensively. 'She's beautiful. She's strong. And she's traveling the wilds with him. She will be spending long, quiet nights by the campfire with him.'
Ysolda didn't look down on Jenassa because Jenassa was terrifying. But this new woman was different. She radiated warmth, camaraderie, and a rugged, heroic charm. Ysolda was an ambitious, clever merchant who operated in ledgers and coin.
But standing before this towering, steel clad warrior, Ysolda suddenly felt incredibly small, fragile, and profoundly outclassed. She didn't understand exactly why, but she felt a distinct, undeniable aura of greatness emanating from the blonde woman that placed her entirely above a simple market trader.
Masking her sudden, intense feelings of threat with her practiced merchant's poise, Ysolda cleared her throat gently.
"Aerion," Ysolda asked, her voice perfectly polite but containing a subtle, inquiring edge. "Who is your new companion? I have not seen her in the city before."
Aeloria, completely and utterly oblivious to the complex, romantic territorial assessment occurring in the merchant's mind, stepped forward with her usual, boisterous enthusiasm.
"I am Aeloria Frostveil!" she introduced herself loudly, extending a heavy, steel clad hand in a gesture of pure, unadulterated friendship. "We met on the road from Helgen. It is a pleasure to meet any friend of Aerion's!"
Ysolda hesitated for a fraction of a second, intimidated by the heavy steel gauntlet, but quickly extended her own soft hand, shaking the warrior's grasp firmly.
"I am Ysolda. The pleasure is mine," she replied, forcing a welcoming smile.
Hulda stepped up, completely ignoring the subtle tension, and cheerfully slapped a hand on Aeloria's steel pauldron. "And I'm Hulda! I formerly run the Bannered Mare, before being taken over by Ysolda here. By the Gods, girl, that is a magnificent set of armor. You look like you could wrestle a frost troll and win!"
"We actually fought two of them in the mountains! Aerion roasted them alive, it was incredible!" Aeloria laughed loudly, immediately bonding with the older Nord woman.
Aerion watched the interaction, perfectly aware of the subtle, shifting dynamics, but knew this was not the time to linger in the market. The heavy, rune etched artifact resting in his digital inventory demanded immediate delivery.
"As much as I would love to recount the tales of our expedition, ladies, we must unfortunately cut our greetings short for the moment," Aerion interrupted smoothly, his tone polite but firm. "We have highly pressing, urgent business to conclude with Farengar Secret-Fire at Dragonsreach."
He offered Ysolda a warm, deeply promising smile.
"However, once our business with the court is concluded, we will immediately head to the Bannered Mare to secure our lodgings. I look forward to seeing you there this evening."
Ysolda's tense shoulders instantly relaxed. The promise of his return, and the specific warmth in his eyes, successfully quelled her immediate fears. She offered a bright, genuine nod.
"Of course! I understand perfectly," Ysolda agreed. "I will be at the inn tonight. Safe travels up the steps, Aerion."
"Until later," Hulda waved, turning back to her crate of cabbages.
With the pleasantries concluded, Aerion led his heavily armed group away from the market stalls. They marched briskly up the wide, sweeping stone steps that separated the Plains District from the Wind District. The residential houses of the wealthy gave way to the magnificent, sprawling gardens and flowing waters surrounding the Gildergreen tree.
They did not stop to admire the temple. They ascended the final, massive flight of stone stairs, approaching the imposing, heavily fortified wooden doors of Dragonsreach.
The Whiterun guards stationed at the entrance immediately crossed their halberds, blocking the path out of pure protocol.
But as the guards recognized the towering High Elf who now have the one and only mammoths ranch in the tundra, and registered the heavy, intimidating presence of his strike team, they quickly uncrossed their weapons and stepped aside.
"Welcome back to Dragonsreach, Aerion," the guard said respectfully.
"My thanks," Aerion nodded.
As Aerion stepped through the massive wooden doors, transitioning from the bright sunlight into the slightly dimmer, torch lit interior of the great hall, he seamlessly engaged his digital interface.
He didn't want to awkwardly summon the massive stone artifact out of thin air in front of the court wizard. He reached his right hand beneath the folds of his immaculate dark robes, pretending to access a heavy leather satchel hidden against his hip.
[Item Retrieved: Dragonstone]
[Inventory Weight Decreased by 3.00 KG. Current Max Weight: 90.20 / 540 KG]
The heavy, dark gray, rune etched slab of ancient stone materialized perfectly into his grasp. Jenassa and Aeloria, walking directly behind him, saw the spatial retrieval, but the guards stationed near the entrance completely missed the subtle feat of magic.
The interior of Dragonsreach was a hive of tense, focused political activity.
A massive fire roared in the central hearth grate, casting flickering shadows across the high wooden rafters. But the usual, relaxed atmosphere of the Jarl's court was absent.
Seated upon his high wooden throne, looking profoundly exhausted and deeply stressed, was Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. Standing directly to his right, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, was his fiercely loyal Housecarl, the Dark Elf Irileth. Pacing nervously to the Jarl's left was his Steward, Proventus Avenicci.
Gathered around the two long, heavily carved wooden feasting tables in the center of the hall were several prominent nobles and key military advisors of Whiterun. The ambient noise of the hall was a chaotic, overlapping murmur of heated arguments, strategic concerns, and hushed fears regarding the escalating civil war and the security of the hold.
Aerion let out a soft, completely exasperated sigh.
'I have absolutely no desire to become entangled in an hour long geopolitical debate regarding Imperial troop movements or Stormcloak patrols for now,' Aerion thought pragmatically. 'I am here to deliver a rock and collect my gold.'
"Keep your heads down and your steps quiet," Aerion whispered over his shoulder to his team. "We bypass the political circus entirely."
They skirted the absolute edge of the great hall, sticking to the shadows near the pillars. Aeloria did her absolute best to walk softly, but her heavy Steel Plate armor still clanked softly with every step. Fortunately, the heated argument between Proventus and a local noble over grain tariffs was loud enough to mask their passage.
They slipped entirely unnoticed into the right wing of the palace, pushing through the open wooden doors that led directly into Farengar Secret-Fire's sprawling, chaotic arcane laboratory.
The room was thick with the scent of alchemical reagents, burning candles, and old parchment. The massive stone enchanting table hummed with ambient magic, and the alchemy lab bubbled softly in the corner.
Standing near the large, map covered wooden table in the center of the room was the Court Wizard, Farengar.
However, Farengar was not alone.
He was currently engaged in a deep, hushed, highly intense conversation with a woman. She wore a tight fitting set of boiled leather armor, her face partially obscured by the deep shadow of a thick cowl pulled over her head. Her posture was rigid, hyper alert, and incredibly dangerous.
Aerion's of course instantly recognized the woma.
Delphine. She was here, just as she was scripted to be in the vanilla game, consulting with Farengar regarding the returning dragons and the ancient burial sites.
A massive, genuinely sociopathic wave of pure, unadulterated amusement washed over Aerion. He knew exactly what Delphine was planning. He knew she intended to steal the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller to manipulate the Dragonborn.
And he knew that the Horn was currently, permanently locked away in his impregnable spatial void, reducing her grand, manipulative master plan to absolute, humiliating ashes before it could even begin.
Aerion completely ignored the hooded woman. He did not offer her a glance, a nod, or a single shred of acknowledgment. He treated her exactly like a piece of mundane furniture.
"Farengar," Aerion called out smoothly, his melodic voice cutting through the hushed conversation.
The Court Wizard jumped slightly, turning away from the table.
When his eyes landed on the towering High Elf and his heavily armed associates, Farengar's arrogant, scholarly demeanor instantly vanished, entirely replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated, giddy academic excitement.
"Aerion! You have returned!" Farengar practically beamed, quickly stepping away from Delphine and rushing toward the strike team. His eyes immediately darted to the High Elf's hands. "Tell me you were successful. Have you brought what I requested? Did you secure the artifact from the barrow?"
Aerion offered a smooth, highly professional nod. He casually lifted his right hand, presenting the heavy, carved etched slab of stone.
"I have indeed, Farengar. The expedition was a complete success," Aerion announced, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "I present to you the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow. The map of the ancient dragon burials you seek."
He extended the heavy stone forward.
Farengar's hands actually trembled with excitement as he reached out and took the massive artifact.
"Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" Farengar gasped, his eyes rapidly scanning the ancient, glowing draconic script etched into the stone surface. He looked like a man who had just been handed the secrets of the universe. "This is... this is flawless! You and your associates have done exceptional work, Aerion! Truly, the Jarl's faith in your capabilities was entirely justified!"
Farengar turned, practically jogging back to the wooden table. He carefully, almost reverently, placed the heavy Dragonstone down onto the parchment map of Skyrim, completely ignoring the hooded woman standing beside him. Delphine shifted slightly, her hidden eyes tracking the High Elf with deep, paranoid suspicion, surprised to see the high elf here.
"Now, as for your compensation," Farengar continued, his voice muffled as he immediately bent down and rummaged through a locked, heavy iron drawer built into the base of the table.
He pulled out a medium sized, tightly bound leather pouch that clinked heavily.
Farengar stood up and tossed the heavy pouch through the air toward the High Elf.
"This is your agreed upon payment," Farengar stated. "From the Jarl's personal treasury, for services rendered to the hold."
Aerion caught the heavy pouch effortlessly in his left hand. He didn't bother opening it or counting the coins. He simply moved his hand toward the heavy leather satchel at his hip, utilizing the motion to seamlessly absorb the currency directly into his digital void.
The golden text flashed in his mind.
[Items Stored: 1,000 Septims]
"The compensation is perfectly acceptable, Farengar," Aerion nodded gracefully. "It was a pleasure conducting business with the court."
Farengar wasn't listening. He was already leaning heavily over the table, his fingers tracing the ancient runes on the stone, lost in academic ecstasy.
"Aerion," Farengar murmured distractedly, not looking up. "The translation of this map will take time, but the implications are staggering. You possess a brilliant, highly analytical mind and vaults of knowledge of the high elves that none of us could access. Would you care to join me and my... associate here, to research this tablet? Your insights into ancient Nordic warding mechanics could prove invaluable in deciphering the burial coordinates."
Aerion opened his mouth, fully prepared to politely decline the invitation to hang around the paranoid Blade.
Before a single syllable could leave his lips, the relatively muted, political murmuring in the Great Hall outside suddenly, violently exploded into a chaotic roar of sheer panic.
"Guards! Secure the perimeter!"
"By the Gods, is it true?!"
"Clear the hall! Let him through!"
The frantic, overlapping shouts completely shattered the academic tranquility of the laboratory. Farengar snapped his head up from the Dragonstone, his brow furrowing in profound confusion. Delphine tensed immediately, her hand dropping instinctively to the hilt of a concealed dagger beneath her cloak.
Aerion, Jenassa, and Aeloria instantly shifted into combat readiness, Aeloria's hand gripping the haft of her battleaxe.
A split second later, Irileth, the Jarl's fiercely loyal Dark Elf Housecarl, burst into the room. Her dark face was taut with absolute, unadulterated crisis. She wasn't walking with her usual, measured grace, she was moving with the frantic, terrifying urgency of a military commander actively entering a war zone.
"Farengar! Leave your toys and come immediately!" Irileth barked, her voice carrying the sharp, uncompromising crack of a whip. "The Jarl demands your presence on the upper balcony right now!"
Farengar blinked, entirely taken aback by the sudden hostility. "Irileth? What in Oblivion is the meaning of this interruption? We are in the middle of a highly sensitive—"
"A dragon has been sighted!" Irileth roared, completely cutting off the wizard's academic protests. "A Whiterun guard just rode in from the Western Watchtower. The beast is circling the plains right now!"
Farengar's jaw dropped. The sheer, impossible reality of the myth returning completely shattered his composure.
Irileth didn't wait for the wizard to process the information. Her sharp, calculating crimson eyes snapped directly onto the towering High Elf and his heavily armored strike team standing near the door.
"You three!" Irileth commanded, pointing a heavily armored finger directly at Aerion, Jenassa, and Aeloria. "You survived the destruction of Helgen! You are the only people in this entire city who have firsthand, tactical experience surviving an assault from one of these monsters! The Jarl requests your presence upstairs immediately! We need your operational intelligence, and we need your steel!"
Aeloria's bright blue eyes widened, a sudden, terrifying thrill of adrenaline completely overwriting her exhaustion from the barrows.
Aerion stood perfectly still as his shock wa washed away. The system interface did not flash, but the invisible, inevitable weight of the timeline crashing down upon them was absolute. The narrative had arrived. "We are at the Jarl's disposal, Irileth," Aerion declared smoothly, stepping forward. "Lead the way."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 460/460 Stamina: 480/480 Magicka: 670/670
Level: 136
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+3)/Lightning(+1)/Frost(+1)) (Level 28/57/20), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 14/25), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/26), Persuasion(+1) (Level 60), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 87), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 92), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii (Fade Spirit), & Su (Air)
[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, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Sapphire, Ruby, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Potion of Minor Magicka, Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Dwarven Sword, Hide Boots Of Sneak, Gold Ruby Ring of Fortify Magicka, Iron Garnet Ring of Fortify Conjuration & Magicka Regen, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Honed Ancient Nord Sword of Sparks, Gold Emerald Circlet, & Scroll of Fire Storm, Ring of Archery,Hide Boots of Stamina, Ancient Nord Sword of Absorbing, Iron Garnet Circlet, & Iron Sapphire Circlet
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), Elven Sword, Amethysts, Potions of Plentiful Magicka, Scroll of Conjure Familiar, & Scroll of Magelight
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, Flawless Sapphires, Gold Necklace, Iron Necklace, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), & Potions of Minor Magicka
4x Spider Eggs, Garnets, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 90.20 KG / 540 KG
Septims: 82,557