If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
...
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
The Jarl paused, his eyes gleaming with a traditional, royal pride. "And furthermore," Jarl Balgruuf proclaimed, "as is the ancient, unshakeable tradition of our people regarding the appointment of new Thanes... I shall formally assign both of you your own, dedicated personal Housecarls to serve, protect, and accompany you on your journeys."
Jarl Balgruuf remained standing at the base of his throne, his commanding presence holding the absolute, unwavering attention of the Great Hall. The heavy weight of his historic decree, the appointment of two new Thanes in a single afternoon, still hung palpably in the smoke filled air of Dragonsreach.
Balgruuf raised a heavy, ringed hand, gesturing toward the shadows near the Jarl's private quarters.
"Step forward!" Jarl Balgruuf commanded, his voice echoing off the high wooden rafters.
From the archway, two heavily armored figures emerged, marching with crisp, synchronized military discipline. The heavy clanking of their standard steel armor, forged for utility and defense rather than the display of power belonging to Aeloria's plate, rang out across the floorboards. They stopped precisely at the base of the stone dais, slamming their fists against their breastplates in a flawless, unified salute.
One was a towering, broad shouldered Nord man with a thick, braided blonde beard and a rugged, battle scarred face that spoke of years spent fighting bandits in the tundra.
The other was a fierce, sharp featured Nord woman with dark, raven hair pulled back into a tight, pragmatic braid, her eyes entirely devoid of fear or hesitation.
Aerion's transmigrator mind instantly, flawlessly recognized the woman.
'Lydia,' Aerion thought, a deep, genuine surge of gamer satisfaction washing over him. The absolute icon of Skyrim housecarls, sworn to carry his burdens.
"Aerion. Aeloria," Jarl Balgruuf announced, gesturing to the two kneeling warriors. "Allow me to introduce the blades that shall guard your backs. The man is Valdemar, a seasoned veteran of my guard who has bled for this city more times than I can count. The woman is Lydia, one of the fiercest, most unyielding shield maidens currently residing within my walls."
Then Jarl Balgruuf stepped down, placing a heavy hand on Lydia's steel clad shoulder.
"Lydia," Balgruuf decreed solemnly. "I assign you to Thane Aerion. You are to be his personal Housecarl. You will serve him, protect his life with your own, and ensure his vast estates and assets are perfectly secure."
Lydia turned her sharp, dark eyes toward the towering High Elf. She did not show a single ounce of prejudice or hesitation regarding his race. She saw only the Jarl's champion.
"It is my absolute honor, my Jarl," Lydia swore, her voice firm and uncompromising. She looked at Aerion, offering a deep, respectful bow of her head. "I am your sword and your shield, sworn to carry your burdens Thane Aerion."
"I am profoundly honored to accept your service, Lydia," Aerion replied smoothly, offering a polite incline of his head.
Balgruuf then moved to the bearded veteran.
"Valdemar," Jarl Balgruuf commanded. "I assign you to Thane Aeloria. She is the Dragonborn, the mythological savior of our people. You are to march beside her into the fires of Oblivion itself if she commands it. Guard her with your very soul."
Valdemar looked up at the towering, steel clad blonde woman. His eyes widened slightly in pure reverence, having heard the echoes of the mountain's summons.
"By the blood of Shor, it is the greatest privilege of my life, my Jarl," Valdemar swore fiercely. He turned to Aeloria, thumping his fist against his chest. "My life is yours, Thane Aeloria."
Aeloria, still completely unused to having sworn retainers, offered a slightly awkward, but incredibly warm and jovial smile. "Thank you, Valdemar. I promise, we will see plenty of action together."
Jarl Balgruuf stepped back up to his throne, sweeping his gaze over the hall one final time.
"Furthermore," Jarl Balgruuf announced, tying up the final bureaucratic threads of the elevation. "As is the right of all Thanes, Aeloria, you are hereby granted explicit royal permission to purchase property within the walls of Whiterun. Proventus will assist you with the deeds whenever you are ready to establish a permanent home here."
"Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf," Aeloria nodded deeply, her mind already spinning with the prospect of actually owning a house rather than sleeping on bedrolls in the dirt.
With the formal ceremonies concluded, the suffocating, tense silence of the Great Hall finally shattered.
A loud, booming chorus of respectful cheers and applause erupted from the two long wooden feasting tables in the center of the room. Goblets of mead were slammed against the wood in approval.
The nobles, wealthy merchants, and influential landowners of the hold were actively celebrating the survival of their city and the rise of its new champions.
However, beneath the loud cheers, the sharp, calculating gears of high stakes political maneuvering were already grinding into motion.
Seated at the tables, the patriarchs of Whiterun's two oldest, most powerful, and currently deeply fractured noble families, the Battle-Borns and the Gray-Manes, were actively weighing the terrifying geopolitical implications of the Jarl's decree.
Vignar Gray-Mane, a staunch, fierce supporter of the old Nordic ways, stared at Aeloria with a look bordering on religious zealotry. To the Gray-Manes, the sudden appearance of a living Dragonborn was an absolute, undeniable validation of Talos and the ancient traditions of Skyrim. She was a walking, breathing demigod, and securing her political favor would be paramount.
Across the aisle, Idolaf Battle-Born was muttering rapidly into the ear of his father, Olfrid. The Battle-Borns were wealthy, influential Imperial loyalists. Their eyes were not fixed entirely on the Dragonborn, they were fixed squarely on the towering High Elf.
Aerion was not just a powerful mage anymore. He was a Thane. More importantly, he was the sole owner and proprietor of the massive, highly lucrative mammoth farming operation being established on the eastern plains.
The Battle-Borns, who controlled the majority of the city's standard agriculture, recognized the sheer, overwhelming economic and military threat Aerion now posed.
The High Elf didn't just produce exotic cheese, he controlled a monopoly on heavy mammoth furs, a vital military commodity for winter campaigns, and he possessed the absolute loyalty of giant herds that could easily be weaponized as living siege engines.
The balance of power in Whiterun had just tilted massively, violently in favor of the Jarl's new champions.
But as with all political shifts, the rapid elevation of two outlanders bred deep, immediate resentment among those who felt entirely bypassed.
As the cheers began to die down, a single, highly refined, deeply arrogant voice cut cleanly through the lingering applause.
"My Jarl. If I may speak."
Stepping out from the crowd of cheering nobles, adjusting the cuffs of his incredibly expensive, fine clothing, was Nazeem.
The wealthy Redguard, who owned the highly profitable Chillfurrow Farm just outside the city walls, walked toward the center of the hall with a gait that positively oozed unearned superiority. He stopped a few feet away from Aerion and Aeloria, deliberately not looking at them, addressing the throne directly.
"Jarl Balgruuf," Nazeem began, his tone dripping with a cloying, falsely respectful concern. "While we are all, of course, terribly relieved to hear that the dragon at the watchtower has been dealt with... I must respectfully voice the deep, lingering concerns of the true, established citizens of the Wind District regarding these sudden appointments."
Jarl Balgruuf's brow instantly furrowed. The Jarl aggressively disliked the pompous Redguard on the best of days.
"Speak your mind, Nazeem," Jarl Balgruuf commanded, his voice tight with warning. "But choose your words carefully."
Nazeem offered a smug, oily smile, entirely oblivious to the lethal danger standing less than three feet to his right.
"It is simply a matter of political optics, my Jarl," Nazeem reasoned smoothly, clasping his hands behind his back. "I feel this decision is incredibly rash. To elevate two complete unknowns to the rank of Thane so suddenly... it is unprecedented. Let us look at the reality of the situation."
Nazeem finally turned his gaze toward Aerion, his dark eyes filled with undisguised, condescending disdain.
"To elevate a High Elf to the highest nobility of Whiterun... it will only serve to completely besmirch your reputation, Jarl Balgruuf," Nazeem argued, weaponizing the racial tensions of the province. "With the current, highly volatile civil war tearing Skyrim apart, naming an Altmer as your champion will undoubtedly be viewed by the Stormcloaks as an open declaration of Imperial and Thalmor sympathy. You are inviting the wrath of Ulfric Stormcloak by placing a Mer above true Nords."
Nazeem then turned his arrogant gaze toward Aeloria, looking up and down her heavy steel armor as if it were covered in mud.
"And as for this woman," Nazeem scoffed lightly, his tone dripping with pure disbelief. "What actual, empirical evidence do we have that she is this mythological 'Dragonborn'? The shouts of the Greybeards echoing from the mountain could easily be calling for the real Dragonborn, who is likely residing somewhere else in the province. Have we considered that possibility?"
Nazeem puffed out his chest, looking back at the Jarl, feeling incredibly smug with his own political analysis.
"I feel it is blatantly obvious, my Jarl," Nazeem concluded loudly. "These two opportunistic wanderers are merely utilizing the chaotic tragedy of a dragon attack to rapidly climb the social hierarchy ladders of Whiterun. They are not worthy of the title of Thane. I strongly suggest we strip them of this honor and wait for Lady Irileth to return with a factual, unbiased report before we make a mockery of our court."
The moment Nazeem finished his arrogant, highly insulting speech, a deathly, suffocating silence immediately descended upon the Great Hall.
The Battle-Borns and the Gray-Manes stared at the Redguard in profound disbelief. Nazeem had just openly insulted a man who could vaporize giants with his bare hands, and a woman who had just been screamed at by powerful old man's in the mountain after slaying a dragon.
Jarl Balgruuf's face went entirely, violently red. The Jarl's hands gripped the carved wooden armrests of his throne so tightly the wood audibly groaned. In his eyes, Nazeem was nothing but an arrogant, insufferable landowner who contributed nothing but grain and complaints to the hold, yet had the audacity to lecture a king on warfare and mythology.
Jarl Balgruuf opened his mouth, fully preparing to unleash a roaring, royal fury that would see the Redguard thrown headfirst out of the palace windows.
Before the Jarl could utter a single syllable, Aerion moved.
The High Elf did not look angry. He did not yell. He simply stepped smoothly forward, interposing his towering, immaculate frame directly between Nazeem and the Jarl's throne.
"I perfectly understand why you feel compelled to say such things, Nazeem," Aerion began, his melodic voice ringing with a calm, terrifyingly polite, and utterly devastating aristocratic authority.
Aerion looked down at the Redguard, his golden eyes completely devoid of warmth.
"However," Aerion continued smoothly, ensuring his voice carried to every single noble in the room, "I would highly suggest that you actually pay attention to the words you just allowed to fall from your lips. Jarl Balgruuf does not make these decisions in a vacuum. He acts out of his own deep, strategic consideration for the survival of his people. And surely, as a wise ruler, he has already asked the opinions of those he finds genuinely trusted, intelligent, and worthy to be heard in this court."
Aerion paused, letting a razor sharp, mocking smile touch his lips.
"And sadly, Nazeem... you are entirely absent from that list."
A few of the nobles at the tables, specifically Olfrid Battle-Born and a few younger courtiers, had to quickly cover their mouths to stifle the sudden, barking laughs of pure amusement.
Nazeem's smug, oily expression instantly shattered. His face flushed with hot, furious humiliation. To be publicly, casually dismissed as a complete non entity in front of the entire Cloud District was the absolute worst insult the arrogant Redguard could fathom.
"How dare you!" Nazeem sputtered, his fists clenching at his sides. "I own Chillfurrow Farm! I am an advisor to the Jarl on agricultural—"
"I am not finished," Aerion cut him off effortlessly, his voice dropping slightly in volume but exponentially in temperature. The sheer, commanding weight of the High Elf's presence forced Nazeem to snap his mouth shut.
Aerion began to slowly, deliberately walk around the Redguard, pacing in a slow circle that completely commanded the physical space and the attention of the entire room. Nazeem was suddenly trapped in the center of the High Elf's orbit, looking incredibly small and foolish.
"I can easily psychoanalyze your pathetic outburst, Nazeem," Aerion lectured coldly, stripping the man's ego bare in front of the court. "I completely understand that you feel incredibly small, deeply insecure, and profoundly threatened today. You look at me, a High Elf, a race you consider to be social pariahs, and you watch me effortlessly bypass your lifetime of desperate, groveling social climbing to instantly become a Thane. A man with a status vastly, undeniably above yours. That jealousy is a common, mundane mortal flaw. I forgive you for it."
Aerion stopped pacing, coming to a halt directly beside Aeloria.
"But what I absolutely cannot abide," Aerion's voice hardened into steel, "is your complete, willful ignorance regarding Aeloria."
He gestured grandly to the towering, heavily armored Dragonborn.
"You stand here in your fine clothes, safely behind massive stone walls, and you dare to question the legitimacy of the woman who just marched into the fire to save your pathetic life?" Aerion demanded, his words striking like physical blows. "She is the Dragonborn. She is the destined savior who stands between your precious farm and absolute, apocalyptic draconic madness. The mountain itself screamed her title. The very earth shook to acknowledge her."
Nazeem scoffed nervously, trying desperately to regain his footing, though he was visibly sweating. "Trickery. Coincidence. I will not believe it until I see empirical proof."
Aerion's golden eyes flared with a sudden, dark, incredibly sociopathic gleam of pure Gamer amusement. He had him exactly where he wanted him.
"Ah. Empirical proof," Aerion repeated softly, a terrifyingly genuine smile spreading across his face.
Aerion turned his gaze toward Jarl Balgruuf, and then swept his arm out toward the center of the Great Hall.
"Since Nazeem here so vehemently refuses to believe that Aeloria is the true Dragonborn," Aerion proposed smoothly, his voice dripping with lethal innocence. "I believe the solution is incredibly simple. Why don't we allow Aeloria to actively demonstrate her newly acquired power directly upon Nazeem?"
A collective, sharp intake of breath echoed through the hall.
Aerion waved a dismissive hand, offering a highly reassuring, entirely fake smile to the terrified Redguard.
"Do not worry, Nazeem," Aerion promised cheerfully. "From what I have personally seen of her Thu'um after she used it for the first time... a localized strike likely wouldn't kill you. It will merely shatter every bone in your torso and permanently rupture your eardrums. A small price to pay for historical clarity, wouldn't you agree?"
Nazeem's face went entirely, chalk white. His eyes practically bulged out of his skull as he looked at the massive, steel clad Nord woman, who was currently tapping the haft of her blazing battleaxe against the floorboards, looking perfectly willing to oblige the request.
"I... I..." Nazeem flabbergasted, completely losing his arrogant composure. He took two frantic steps backward, his hands raised defensively. "I absolutely will not accept such a ridiculous, barbaric offer! This is a civilized court! Jarl Balgruuf, surely you will not allow this!"
Nazeem turned desperately toward the throne, fully expecting the Jarl to intervene and restore order.
Instead, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater leaned forward in his throne, a massive, predatory, highly satisfied Nordic grin completely splitting his bearded face. The Jarl absolutely hated Nazeem, and he was thoroughly enjoying watching the arrogant landowner squirm.
"Actually, Nazeem, I believe Thane Aerion's logic is completely sound," Jarl Balgruuf agreed, his booming voice dripping with royal sarcasm. "It is, in fact, the only way. If Aeloria demonstrates the raw power of the Thu'um directly upon you, and you survive to confirm it... then you wouldn't have any further protests regarding her legitimacy, right?"
Nazeem looked around the hall like a trapped chicken. He looked to Proventus. The Steward suddenly found his ledger incredibly fascinating, refusing to make eye contact. He looked to the Battle-Borns and the Gray-Manes. The nobles simply stared back at him with cold, highly amused indifference. Not a single soul in the entire Cloud District was willing to extend a hand to save him.
Nazeem was entirely, completely isolated.
Realizing he had backed himself into an inescapable political and physical corner, Nazeem gritted his teeth, his jaw trembling.
"Fine," Nazeem choked out, his voice barely a terrified whisper. He lowered his head in absolute, crushing defeat. "I... I accept the demonstration."
"Excellent," Aerion nodded smoothly, the picture of aristocratic grace.
Aerion turned back to the throne, offering a respectful bow.
"My Jarl, if I may make a minor logistical suggestion regarding the demonstration," Aerion requested politely. "I highly suggest we conduct this specific experiment out on the Great Porch, rather than here in the Great Hall."
Jarl Balgruuf raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that, Aerion? The hall is certainly large enough for everyone to observe."
"The hall is indeed spacious, my Jarl," Aerion agreed, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. "But if she unleashes the Unrelenting Force indoors, the concussive shockwave will likely shatter your fine dining tables and scatter the bonfire across the rugs."
Aerion turned his golden eyes back to the trembling Redguard.
"Furthermore," Aerion added, his voice chilling the air, "we must position Nazeem very carefully on the porch. If she strikes him cleanly, there is an incredibly high probability that he will be violently blown entirely over the stone railing and fall hundreds of feet to his death in the lower districts. We must ensure he has a solid stone wall to catch his shattered spine."
Nazeem let out a pathetic, high pitched whimper of pure, unadulterated terror. Aeloria cracked her heavy steel knuckles, a feral, Dragonborn grin spreading across her face. "Lead the way to the porch, Aerion," Aeloria declared cheerfully. "I need to clear my throat."
_____________________________
[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 Roh (Force Balance), 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