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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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."
Irileth did not waste a single fraction of a second. The Jarl's fiercely loyal Housecarl turned on her heel, her dark armor snapping with sharp, military efficiency. She completely ignored Farengar's babbling excitement and the hooded woman standing near the map table.
"Follow me. Quickly," Irileth barked, her voice carrying the absolute, uncompromising authority of a wartime commander.
Aerion offered a brief, barely perceptible nod. He fell into step behind the Dark Elf, his long strides easily matching her frantic pace. Jenassa and Aeloria, their exhaustion from the barrows entirely overwritten by the sudden, terrifying spike of adrenaline, hurried after him.
Farengar Secret-Fire, his eyes wide with academic mania, practically sprinted to keep up with the heavily armored group, leaving Delphine standing alone in the laboratory, her face obscured by shadows as she stared deeply at the newly delivered Dragonstone.
Irileth led them rapidly out of the right wing and back into the Great Hall of Dragonsreach. The chaotic, overlapping arguments of the local nobles had escalated into a fever pitch of panic, but Irileth cut right through them, shoving a protesting nobleman aside as she led the strike team up the sweeping wooden stairs situated to the right of the throne area.
They ascended to the second floor, emerging into the Jarl's private strategic solar.
The atmosphere in the room was suffocatingly tense. Standing near a large, tactical map of the hold was Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. He looked as though he had aged ten years in the span of five minutes. His broad shoulders were slumped, his face pale and deeply lined with stress.
Standing directly beside him was Proventus Avenicci, the Steward, who was nervously wringing his hands, his face slick with terrified sweat. On the Jarl's left stood Commander Cassius, the grizzled head of the Whiterun Guard, his hand resting heavily on the pommel of his sword.
But it was the man slumped on a wooden bench near the hearth that commanded the room's grim attention.
It was a young Whiterun guard, his yellow and gold tabard torn and smeared with dark soot. He was hunched forward, his helmet discarded on the floorboards, taking massive, shuddering, heavy deep breaths.
His eyes were wide, glassy, and completely vacant, staring into the middle distance with the unmistakable, horrifying thousands yard stare of a man who had just witnessed the impossible.
As Irileth marched the group into the solar, Jarl Balgruuf looked up.
When his eyes landed on Aerion, Jenassa, and Aeloria, a massive, profound sigh of relief escaped the Jarl's lips. The tension in his broad shoulders eased marginally.
"Praise the Divines you have returned," Jarl Balgruuf breathed heavily, stepping away from the map table to greet them. "Aerion, Jenassa, Aeloria... and Farengar. It is good that all of you are here right now. We have a highly critical, terrifyingly serious matter to attend to."
Farengar, completely unable to read the grim, traumatized room, practically vibrated with academic ecstasy.
"We have heard it from Irileth in my office, my Jarl!" Farengar blurted out eagerly, stepping past Irileth. "It is about dragons, is it not?! Have there been confirmed sightings? Have we secured physical evidence? Tell us everything!"
Jarl Balgruuf stared at his court mage for a long, heavy second. A look of profound exhaustion and deep irritation crossed the Nord ruler's face. He let out a long, heavy sigh, slowly shaking his head at the wizard's sheer, insensitive detachment from mortal terror.
"It is not a matter for academic study, Farengar. It is a matter of survival," Jarl Balgruuf reprimanded him softly, but firmly.
Jarl Balgruuf turned his attention away from the wizard, looking gently down at the traumatized guardsman shivering on the bench. The Jarl's voice softened, shedding the booming authority of a ruler and adopting the compassionate, stabilizing tone of a father.
"Son," Jarl Balgruuf said gently, stepping closer. "Take a breath. I know it is difficult, but I need you to tell these people exactly what you just told me. Come out with it."
The young guard swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his soot stained throat. He looked up, his terrified eyes darting across the heavily armored figures in the room. He gripped his knees so tightly his knuckles turned bone white.
"It... it came completely out of nowhere," the guard began, his voice a hoarse, trembling rasp that echoed hauntingly in the quiet solar. "We were just standing our post at the Western Watchtower. The sky was clear. And then... the sun was just gone. A shadow swallowed the entire tower."
The guard took another shuddering breath, a tear cutting a clean line through the soot on his cheek.
"It was a huge, black thing," the guard choked out, shivering violently at the memory. "Scales like iron plates. It crashed into the stone roof without warning. The impact shook the very foundations. And the heat... Gods, the heat! It breathed fire that didn't just burn, it actively melted the stone parapets!"
He looked directly at Aeloria, his eyes wide with absolute, primal horror.
"It didn't even land to fight us," the guard wept quietly. "It just swooped down. I saw it catch some of the boys in its massive claws. It just... it snatched them right up into the sky like they were rabbits. They were screaming in the air."
The young man buried his face in his trembling hands, completely overwhelmed by the survivor's guilt.
"I ran," he sobbed. "I'm sorry, Commander. I'm so sorry, my Jarl. When it banked around for another pass, I saw a chance and I just ran as fast as my legs could carry me toward the city gates. I didn't look back. But I could still hear the screams of the garrison, and the roar of that monster right behind me the entire way."
A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the Jarl's solar. The sheer, vivid reality of the myth had been violently forced upon them.
Jarl Balgruuf closed his eyes, absorbing the brutal loss of his men. When he opened them again, there was no anger directed at the fleeing soldier, only deep, solemn understanding.
Jarl Balgruuf placed a heavy, comforting hand on the weeping guard's shoulder.
"It is okay now, son," Jarl Balgruuf reassured him, his voice remarkably steady and warm. "You have done your best. You survived, and you brought the warning to the city so that we might prepare. Do not beat yourself up too hard for what happened out there. A mortal man cannot be expected to hold a wall of stone against a myth of fire. It was entirely out of your control."
He then gave the man's shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze.
"Go down to the barracks," the Jarl commanded gently. "Get some fresh water, sit by the hearth, and get some rest. You have done your duty for Whiterun today."
The guard looked up, wiping his face with the back of his dirty gauntlet. He offered a shaky, incredibly grateful nod to his Jarl. "Thank you, my Jarl. Thank you."
The soldier slowly stood up and took his leave, limping heavily out of the solar and down the wooden stairs.
The moment the guard was out of earshot, the compassionate, fatherly Jarl completely vanished, instantly replaced by the fierce, decisive wartime monarch.
Jarl Balgruuf turned his head sharply, locking eyes with his Housecarl.
"Irileth," he ordered, his voice echoing with absolute command. "Go down to the garrison immediately. You are to prepare a large detachment of the absolute best men Whiterun has to offer. Empty the reserves if you must. You are to march on the Western Watchtower and reinforce whatever is left of that garrison. If the beast is still there, you drive it off. If it returns, you kill it."
Irileth slammed a fist against her dark breastplate, her crimson eyes burning with lethal determination. "Right away, my Jarl. We will bring that monster down."
Farengar Secret-Fire, completely unable to contain his academic fervor, took an eager step forward, almost tripping over his own robes.
"My Jarl, please!" Farengar begged, his voice high and desperate. "You must allow me to accompany Irileth's detachment! The chance to look at a living, breathing dragon up close... to witness its biological functions and magical breath in a live combat scenario... it is the chance of an absolute lifetime! I must go!"
"No."
Jarl Balgruuf's refusal was instantaneous, harsh, and completely uncompromising. He glared at the court wizard.
"I absolutely forbid it, Farengar," he commanded sternly. "You are not a soldier, and I will not have my court wizard incinerated on the plains because he was trying to take notes. I need you to stay exactly here, in Dragonsreach. I need you to dive into your archives, consult your tomes, and help Proventus and myself discuss exactly how we are going to defend the stone walls of this city against an enemy that can fly right over them. Your mind is needed here, not your eyes in the field."
Farengar's shoulders slumped in profound, crushing disappointment, but he knew better than to argue with the Jarl in the midst of a military crisis. He offered a sullen, reluctant nod. "As you command, my Jarl."
With his military and arcane logistics secured, Jarl Balgruuf finally turned his full, imposing attention to the towering High Elf and his heavily armored companions.
The Jarl's expression softened slightly, adopting a tone of deep, sincere request rather than absolute command. "Aerion," Balgruuf spoke, his voice heavy with the grim reality of their situation. "I know you have only just returned from a highly perilous expedition on my behalf. I know you are exhausted. But Whiterun desperately needs the help of you and your associates yet again."
He then gestured toward the western windows of the solar, pointing out toward the unseen tundra.
"Irileth is the finest warrior I have ever known, and my guards are incredibly brave," the Jarl admitted. "But none of them have ever faced a dragon. They are marching into the absolute unknown. Out of everyone in this entire city, it is only the three of you who possess actual, firsthand, tactical experience dealing with a dragon, due to your miraculous survival at Helgen. You know how it moves. You know how it breathes. I am asking you to march with my men."
Aerion did not hesitate. His transmigrator mind had been perfectly anticipating this exact narrative pivot. This wasn't a burden, this was the absolute, pivotal moment where he would fully integrate himself into the highest echelons of Whiterun's hierarchy, not just through his mammoths farm but through the combination with this matter.
He placed his right hand smoothly over his heart, offering a deeply respectful, unwavering bow.
"Of course, my Jarl," Aerion accepted, his melodic voice ringing with absolute, unshakable conviction. "You do not even need to ask. As I have said before, I consider myself a part of Whiterun now. This place is our home. My associates and I are more than happy to march to the defense of the hold. We will face the fire alongside your men."
Behind him, Jenassa offered a silent, stoic nod of agreement.
Inwardly, however, the pragmatic Morag Tong assassin was already calculating the sheer, unadulterated madness of the order. 'A dragon,' Jenassa thought, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly. 'We are actively marching out to hunt a flying, armor melting, mythological god of destruction with a handful of guardsmen and some steel. This is going to be a monumental, agonizing pain in the ass. The Patron better know exactly what he is doing.'
But she was bound by coin, blood, and a growing, grudging respect for the High Elf's impossible capabilities. If he marched into the fire, she would follow.
Aeloria, on the other hand, required absolutely no internal persuasion.
The jovial, fiercely selfless Nord woman, entirely unaware of the ancient, divine dragon blood thrumming actively in her own veins, simply stepped forward, the heavy steel plates of her armor clanking with heroic resolve.
"We would love to help, Jarl Balgruuf," Aeloria declared, her bright blue eyes blazing with a fierce, protective fire. "You gave us sanctuary when we had nothing. We will not let this monster burn your lands while we draw breath."
Jarl Balgruuf looked at the towering, steel clad Nord woman, and then at the immaculately calm High Elf. A genuine, profound smile of absolute relief touched the Jarl's stressed features.
"Thank you," Jarl Balgruuf nodded deeply. "May the Divines watch over you all. I hope to see every single one of you return safely, without harm."
Irileth, having already mentally mapped out her deployment strategy, turned to Aerion.
"I need to rally the men from the barracks and the armory," Irileth stated crisply. "Aerion, take your team and head directly down to the main city gates. Wait for me there. We move out the moment the detachment is fully armed."
"Understood, Irileth," Aerion nodded.
Irileth immediately spun on her heel and sprinted down the wooden stairs, her armor clattering loudly as she rushed to mobilize the city's defense force.
Aerion turned to his team. "We move."
They descended the stairs, leaving the stressed Jarl and his advisors behind. They bypassed Farengar's laboratory entirely, slipping quickly through the Great Hall, which was now in a state of absolute, terrified pandemonium as the rumors of the dragon attack began to wildly circulate among the nobles.
They exited the heavy wooden doors of Dragonsreach, stepping out into the bright, late afternoon sunlight of the Cloud District.
As they walked swiftly down the wide stone steps toward the Wind District, Jenassa finally broke her professional silence. She matched Aerion's long strides, keeping her voice low so the panicked townsfolk wouldn't overhear.
"Patron," Jenassa began, her tone deeply pragmatic and highly skeptical. "I do not question your orders. I swore my blade to your service. But I must ask... do you truly wish to actively participate in this skirmish? We are not talking about a coven of vampires hiding in a cave. This is a dragon. A literal, world eating myth. We could simply secure our coin, purchase horses, and ride east for Riften until the Imperial Legion deals with the beast."
Aerion didn't stop walking. He glanced sideways at the scarred assassin, appreciating her cold, mercenary logic.
"I understand your hesitation, Jenassa," Aerion replied softly, his voice incredibly calm. "But running is a flawed, short term tactical strategy. We need to face this beast today."
He gestured vaguely toward the sky above them.
"We are not alone in this fight, we have the backing of fifty armed men to draw the beast's aggression," Aerion reasoned logically. "This is the absolute best possible scenario to conquer our fear of the myth. I possess a deeply unsettling feeling that this specific dragon attack is not an isolated incident. The beast at Helgen was the catalyst. This attack on the watchtower is the confirmation. The dragons are returning en masse. This matter will inevitably become vastly more problematic across the entire continent later on."
Aerion locked his golden eyes onto hers, projecting a terrifying, cold certainty.
"If the skies of Skyrim are going to be filled with fire," Aerion concluded, "we absolutely need to find a reliable, repeatable method of taking one of these monsters down right now, while we have the numerical advantage of the Whiterun guard. If we don't learn how to kill one today, we will simply die to one tomorrow."
Jenassa stared at the High Elf for a long moment, processing the unassailable, brutal pragmatism of his argument. He was entirely right. If dragons were a permanent addition to the environment, ignorance was a death sentence.
The Morag Tong assassin let out a long, heavy sigh, adjusting the strap of her Dwarven Bow across her shoulder.
"Your logic is frustratingly convincing, Patron," Jenassa muttered fatalistically. "Very well. We hunt a god."
They continued their fast paced walk, descending through the bustling, panicked streets of Whiterun. Merchants were frantically packing their stalls, mothers were rushing their children indoors, and the city guards were moving with frantic, elevated urgency.
They reached the massive, heavy wooden main gates of the city and stepped just outside, waiting near the paved stone ramp that led down to the stables.
They did not have to wait long.
A few minutes later, the heavy, rhythmic, terrifyingly synchronized sound of marching steel boots echoed from within the city walls.
Irileth emerged through the main gates, leading a massive, heavily armed detachment of the Whiterun Guard. There were around one hundred of the absolute best soldiers the city possessed.
They were clad in thick chainmail and boiled leather, proudly wearing the bright yellow and gold tabards of the hold. They carried heavy steel Kite shields, broadswords, and thick wooden crossbows loaded with steel tipped bolts.
The sheer, overwhelming presence of fifty mobilized, combat ready soldiers marching out of the city gates immediately attracted the attention of every single civilian near the stables and the surrounding farms. People stopped what they were doing, staring in hushed, terrified awe as the army of Whiterun marched to war.
Irileth halted the column just outside the gates. She approached Aerion, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, her face a mask of absolute, lethal focus.
"Are you and your team ready, Aerion?" Irileth asked sharply.
Aerion stood tall, his dark robes shifting slightly in the plains breeze. He offered a firm, confident nod.
"We are fully prepared, Irileth. Lead the way," Aerion confirmed.
"Move out!" Irileth bellowed to the column.
They left the towering walls of Whiterun behind, marching rapidly down the cobblestone path. They passed the bustling stables, where the horses whinnied nervously, sensing the tension in the air.
As they hit the main crossroads, Irileth turned the column sharply to the right, heading directly west across the sprawling, golden plains of the tundra.
The march was fast, driven by desperate urgency, but Irileth was a seasoned commander. She ensured the pace was a rapid, ground eating trot, rather than an all out sprint, meticulously ensuring that her heavily armored soldiers were not completely exhausted and out of breath by the time they reached the combat zone.
They marched for nearly thirty minutes across the rolling grasslands. The sky above them remained clear, the sun beginning its slow descent toward the western mountains, casting long, golden shadows across the plains.
But as they crested a wide, grassy hill, the pristine beauty of the tundra was violently interrupted.
A thick, towering, suffocating plume of oily black smoke was rising heavily into the sky a mile ahead.
"There," Irileth pointed, her voice grim.
As they marched closer, the devastating reality of the Western Watchtower finally came into full view.
The massive, circular stone structure of the main building was still structurally intact, standing defiantly against the horizon. But the surrounding perimeter was a scene of absolute, apocalyptic devastation.
The wooden palisades surrounding the tower had been completely, violently shattered, reduced to burning splinters scattered across the grass. Massive chunks of the upper stone parapets had been blown completely off the tower, crushing the tents and supply carts below. The earth itself was scorched black, and localized, unnatural fires burned fiercely among the rubble, completely refusing to extinguish themselves.
The air was thick with the horrible, suffocating stench of ozone, melted stone, and roasted meat.
Irileth halted the column fifty yards from the smoking ruin. Her crimson eyes widened slightly as she surveyed the sheer, terrifying scale of the destruction.
"Good Gods," Irileth whispered, her voice tight with horror. The stories hadn't exaggerated.
She violently shook the shock from her system, turning back to the one hundred highly tense, visibly terrified soldiers standing in formation behind her.
"Hold the line!" Irileth commanded, drawing her steel sword, the ringing shing of metal cutting through the crackle of the flames.
She turned to Aerion, her eyes darting frantically across the empty, smoke filled sky. "Keep completely cautious and utterly vigilant, everyone," Irileth ordered, her voice echoing over the plains. "I do not see the dragon currently on the ground, or flying in the immediate sky. But these monster are fast. It could return from the clouds, or it could be waiting in the smoke. Spread out, lock your shields, and watch the skies!"
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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