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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Delphine straightened her posture slightly, a flicker of fierce, ancient pride reigniting in her weathered eyes as she looked directly at the Dragonborn. "And more importantly," Delphine revealed, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute, sworn reverence, "we were the elite, sworn protectors of the Dragonborn emperors. For centuries, the two titles were synonymous. Where the Dragonborn walked, the Blades followed."
The revelation hung in the crisp, cooling air of the burial mound, heavy and absolute.
Delphine's confession did not merely break the silence, it fundamentally shifted the geopolitical gravity of the clearing. The word Blades was not just a title. To anyone well versed in the history of Tamriel, it was a ghost story. It was the name of a fallen, legendary institution that had once stood at the absolute right hand of the Septim Emperors, only to be violently, systematically erased from the world.
Aeloria's brow furrowed, processing the weight of the older woman's words. She was a warrior of Skyrim, and while she knew the basic histories of the Empire, the intricate, shadowy details of the Emperor's personal guard were slightly outside her immediate expertise.
But Jenassa knew.
The Morag Tong assassin, who had spent decades navigating the lethal, bloody underbelly of Tamriel's political landscape, stepped completely out of the shadows. For the very first time since Aerion had hired her, genuine, unfiltered shock widened her crimson eyes. She stared at Delphine as if looking at a walking corpse.
"The Blades," Jenassa breathed, her voice dropping into a rare, hushed tone of professional reverence and disbelief. She slowly lowered her bow. "By the web of Mephala. I thought your entire order was completely extinct. Erased for good."
Aeloria looked over at the assassin. "Extinct? What happened to them?"
Jenassa kept her eyes locked on Delphine, but she answered the Dragonborn.
"The Great War happened, Aeloria," Jenassa explained grimly, reciting the bloody history that every shadow worker in the continent knew by heart. "When the Empire surrendered to the Aldmeri Dominion and signed the White Gold Concordat, the Thalmor demanded absolute terms. One of those terms was the complete disbandment and eradication of the Blades."
"The Thalmor saw them as the ultimate threat to their supremacy. The Elven assassins hunted them down across every corner of Tamriel. They burned their safehouses, slaughtered their grandmasters, and displayed their severed heads on carts. For the last thirty years, the world believed the Blades were nothing but ash and memory."
Delphine's jaw tightened, a bitter, hollow smile touching her lips. The assassin's summary was brutally accurate.
"We weren't extinct," Delphine corrected softly, the sheer, exhausting weight of three decades of paranoid survival evident in her weary posture. "But we were hunted almost to the point of it. Out of hundreds of highly trained operatives, generals, and spies... I am one of the only ones left alive in this entire miserable province. I have spent almost the last thirty years sleeping with one eye open, moving from town to town, trusting absolutely no one, and waiting for the executioner's blade."
Aeloria's natural, empathetic Nordic heart immediately softened. The Dragonborn understood the burden of duty, and the thought of being hunted down like an animal simply for serving the Empire was a tragic, honorable fate.
Aeloria nodded her head slowly, a look of profound sympathy replacing her previous frustration.
"It must have been an absolute living nightmare for you and your companions," Aeloria offered gently, resting her hands on her hips. "To serve with honor, only to be betrayed by the peace treaty and hunted down. I can certainly understand why you are cautious. But Delphine... why did you hide it from me? If you were historically sworn to protect the Dragonborn, why lie to my face and pretend to be an innkeeper when we finally met?"
Delphine was silent for a long, heavy moment.
She did not answer Aeloria immediately. Instead, her sharp, suspicious eyes drifted slowly to the right, locking directly onto the towering, immaculately dressed High Elf standing nearby.
Aerion stared back at her, his golden eyes completely unreadable, his face a flawless mask of aristocratic calm.
"Because I had to be absolutely sure," Delphine finally answered, turning her attention back to Aeloria, though she kept Aerion strictly in her peripheral vision. "The Blades were originally forged as dragon slayers, yes. But our highest, most sacred oath was to the Dragonborn. You are the ultimate weapon against this threat. But... because my order was systematically slaughtered by the Thalmor, I cannot afford the luxury of trusting people easily. The Dominion has spies everywhere. If I revealed myself to a false Dragonborn, or worse, a Thalmor puppet, I would be handing them my head."
Delphine gestured toward the High Elf.
"And I certainly could not reveal the deepest secrets of my hunted order while you are traveling with an Altmer," Delphine added, her voice laced with unapologetic paranoia. "No offense to your companion, but his race is actively, aggressively trying to murder me."
Aeloria immediately understood the spymaster's hesitation. From a purely survivalist standpoint, Delphine's paranoia was entirely justified. However, the Dragonborn was not about to let her friend and patron be slandered by racial association.
Aeloria stepped closer to Aerion, offering him a warm, deeply supportive smile before looking back at Delphine.
"I can understand why you hid your identity, Delphine, especially given the history," Aeloria assured her firmly, leaving absolutely no room for debate. "But you do not need to worry about Aerion. He is a High Elf, yes, but he is not a part of the Thalmor. He despises their faction just as much as you do. Isn't that right, Aerion?"
Aerion, seamlessly adjusting his internal script to match the narrative Aeloria had just graciously provided him, offered a slow, deeply solemn nod. He channeled the persona of a weary, intellectual exile.
"The Dragonborn speaks the absolute truth," Aerion lied with flawless, resonant sincerity, placing a hand gracefully over his heart. "The Thalmor are a suffocating, fascist regime that crushes free thought and academic pursuit under the boot of religious extremism. Their arrogance is boundless. It is precisely because of their suffocating tyranny that I chose to abandon the pristine shores of the Summerset Isles. I traveled across Tamriel to seek knowledge free from their inquisitions. You have absolutely nothing to fear from me, Blade. I harbor no love for the Dominion."
Delphine studied his face for a long time. She was a master interrogator, but she could not find a single crack, a single micro expression of deception in the High Elf's flawless mask. His words sounded entirely genuine.
Tentatively, reluctantly, Delphine gave a slow nod of acceptance. She still didn't trust him, she didn't trust anyone, but she was willing to proceed.
"Very well," Delphine conceded, turning her full attention back to Aeloria. "Then let us speak of the true threat. For months, before the attack on Helgen, I have been actively tracking the rumors and the minor disturbances across the holds. I knew the dragons were returning before anyone else did. I came here to confirm it, and I have."
Delphine took a step closer to the Dragonborn, her eyes burning with fierce, desperate purpose.
"I need you to work with me, Aeloria," Delphine pleaded softly. "We are the only two people in this province who truly understand the scale of what is happening. But we are fighting blind. We do not know why they are returning now. I have my suspicions, however."
Delphine paused. She threw another, much darker glance at Aerion, before locking her gaze back onto the Dragonborn.
"I believe," Delphine stated, her voice dripping with absolute, unwavering conviction, "that the Thalmor know significantly more about the return of these dragons than they are admitting."
A heavy, profoundly skeptical silence fell over the clearing.
Aerion let out a soft, elegant, highly condescending scoff. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the spymaster as if she had just suggested the moon was made of mammoth cheese.
"The Thalmor?" Aerion countered, his melodic voice dripping with icy, academic mockery. "Delphine, I understand that trauma breeds paranoia, but you must apply basic, logical reasoning to your theories. What you are suggesting is pure, unadulterated nonsense."
"It is not nonsense!" Delphine snapped, her composure cracking slightly.
"It is the definition of a crazy, fear driven conspiracy theory," Aerion pressed flawlessly, systematically dismantling her logic. "I am intimately aware of the magical capabilities of the Aldmeri Dominion. They are incredibly powerful, yes. They possess master illusionists, devastating destruction mages, and brilliant tacticians. But they do not possess the power of the gods."
Aerion gestured broadly toward the massive, bleached skeleton of Sahloknir resting upon the dirt.
"You just witnessed a black dragon literally reverse the flow of time to physically reconstruct the flesh and bone of its fallen general," Aerion lectured her coldly. "That is ancient, mythological, divine magic. The Thalmor cannot control time. They cannot command the souls of dragons. To believe that a cabal of Elven politicians somehow orchestrated the return of immortal wyrms from the Merethic Era is giving them vastly more credit than they could ever possibly deserve."
Delphine's face flushed with anger, her fists clenching at her sides. She refused to back down. Her entire worldview was built around the absolute malice of the Thalmor.
"You are looking at the magic, but you are completely ignoring the geopolitical reality!" Delphine argued back with fierce, desperate conviction. "Look at the board! Who benefits from this? The Empire is currently bleeding itself dry fighting Ulfric Stormcloak's rebellion. The Nords are divided and exhausted. And right when the war is at its absolute worst, dragons suddenly appear in the sky and start burning down our settlements and our military outposts!"
Delphine pointed a finger toward the ground.
"The Thalmor are the only faction that actively benefits from the return of the dragons!" Delphine insisted. "The Empire and the Nords are the ones taking the absolute brunt of the damage! The dragons are destroying our infrastructure and keeping our armies tied down. As long as the dragons are burning Skyrim, the civil war will never end, and the Dominion can sit safely in the Summerset Isles, watching the two sides tear itself apart! They must be involved. If they didn't cause it, they at least know who did!"
The argument was growing heated, the fundamental clash between logical magical reality and paranoid political theory threatening to derail the fragile alliance.
Aeloria immediately inserted herself into the center of the dispute, raising both of her gauntleted hands to halt the growing shouting match.
"Enough!" Aeloria commanded, her voice carrying the booming authority of her blood. She looked between the High Elf and the Blade, acting as the pragmatic, common sense mediator.
"Whatever the two of you feel about each other, you both need to stop and look at the facts," Aeloria reasoned, her tone entirely calm. She turned to Delphine first. "Delphine, I actually agree with you on one point. The Thalmor are definitely the only side that benefits from Skyrim burning. It weakens the two sides. That is a fact."
Delphine nodded emphatically, feeling validated.
But Aeloria immediately turned and mirrored the nod toward Aerion.
"However," Aeloria continued, her practical Nordic logic shining through. "I also completely believe Aerion. The Thalmor absolutely should not, and cannot, possess the kind of power to control dragons. Think about it, Delphine. If the Aldmeri Dominion actually had the power to summon immortal, fire breathing dragons that could wipe out entire armies in seconds... why in Oblivion did they sign the White Gold Concordat thirty years ago?"
Aeloria gestured toward the distant horizon.
"If they controlled the dragons, they wouldn't have needed to negotiate a peace treaty," Aeloria concluded flawlessly. "They would have simply marched those dragons straight into the Imperial City, burned the White-Gold Tower to ash, and taken over the entire Empire by force. They didn't do that. Therefore, they don't control the dragons."
Aerion smiled, a deep, genuine expression of pride in the Dragonborn's political acumen.
"A flawless and indisputable deduction, Aeloria," Aerion agreed smoothly, offering her a slight bow of respect. He looked back at the silenced spymaster. "The Thalmor are opportunists, Delphine, not gods. They may be watching the dragons with interest, but they did not orchestrate this."
Delphine opened her mouth to argue, her stubborn fanaticism warring with the absolute, undeniable logic presented to her. But she closed it again, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh. She couldn't refute the point about the Concordat.
"Fine," Delphine conceded bitterly, crossing her arms. "Perhaps they didn't summon them. But I still do not trust them. We need to find out exactly what they know."
With the argument forcefully settled by the Dragonborn, an awkward, heavy silence finally fell over the ancient burial mound. The immediate adrenaline of the battle and the subsequent political debate had entirely faded, leaving only the cold reality of their logistical problem.
They had a mountain of dragon bones to move, and they could do absolutely nothing until the heavy transport arrived.
So, they waited.
The hours dragged on with agonizing slowness. The late afternoon sun slowly sank lower in the sky, casting long, deep, stretching shadows across the cratered dirt of Kynesgrove. The crisp air grew noticeably colder, carrying the sharp, biting edge of the impending Eastmarch night.
Aerion sat comfortably upon a smooth rock, his eyes closed, lightly meditating to completely top off his Magicka reserves. Aeloria spent the time meticulously cleaning the dried dragon blood from the blazing ebony steel of the Axe of Morthal.
Jenassa remained perched on a high boulder, keeping a silent, continuous overwatch on the tree line, while Delphine paced nervously back and forth, her mind undoubtedly spinning new, complex webs of espionage.
Finally, as the sky began to bleed into the deep, bruised purples and dark oranges of the late afternoon, the unmistakable, heavy, rhythmic sound of massive wooden wheels grinding against dirt echoed from the path below.
"They are here," Jenassa announced, hopping down from the boulder.
Emerging from the dense tree line and rolling heavily into the clearing was an absolutely massive logistical convoy.
Leading the train was Bjorlam, driving his familiar wooden carriage. Directly behind him, pulled by teams of massive, thick muscled draft horses, were seven heavy, iron reinforced mining wagons, the kind typically used to haul tons of raw ebony and malachite ore out of the volcanic mines of Eastmarch.
Valdemar and Lydia rode in the lead wagon, looking exhausted but deeply accomplished.
As the massive convoy rolled to a halt in a wide semi circle around the crater, the seven Nord drivers hopped down from their benches. These were hardened, rugged men of Windhelm, accustomed to backbreaking labor and the harsh realities of the frozen north.
But as they stepped into the clearing and laid eyes upon the massive, multi ton, bleached white skeleton of Sahloknir, they completely froze in their tracks.
"By the blood of Ysmir," one of the drivers, a massive, heavily bearded man named Torald, gasped out loud. He ripped his fur hat from his head, staring at the skull with profound, unadulterated awe. "It's... it's true. The rumors in the taverns were true. A real dragon."
"I thought Bjorlam had finally gone mad when he offered us triple our standard hauling rates," another driver muttered, crossing his arms and shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "I never thought I'd live to see the day. We're hauling a myth."
Valdemar stepped down from the wagon, gesturing respectfully toward Aeloria, who had stood up to greet them.
"Men of Windhelm," Valdemar announced proudly, his voice booming over the clearing. "You do not just look upon a myth. You look upon the work of the Dragonborn."
The drivers immediately turned their attention to the towering, blonde Nord woman in the heavy, scratched Steel Plate armor. The awe in their eyes deepened into absolute reverence. To the traditional Nords of Eastmarch, the Dragonborn was a figure of supreme, almost religious importance.
Torald stepped forward, bowing deeply from the waist. "It is an absolute honor to meet you, Dragonborn. Truly. Our sons and daughters will sing songs of this day."
Aeloria, never one to let praise go to her head, smiled warmly and clapped Torald on the shoulder.
"The honor is mine, friend," Aeloria replied graciously. "But the songs can wait for the taverns. Right now, we have an incredible amount of heavy lifting to do before the sun goes down, and I need the strongest backs in Windhelm to help us."
"You shall have them!" Torald grinned, turning to his crew. "Alright, you lazy milk drinkers! You heard the Dragonborn! Let's get these carts loaded!"
Aerion seamlessly stepped into the role of the meticulous, wealthy foreman. He did not lift the bones himself, but he orchestrated the operation with flawless, mathematical precision.
"Spread the weight evenly across the axles!" Aerion commanded, pointing his long fingers toward the specific wagons. "Do not overload a single cart, or we will snap the wheels on the cobblestones. I want the massive skull secured in the primary wagon. Break the ribcage down at the vertebral joints and distribute the bones across carts two, three, and four. Stack the heavy bronze scales tightly in carts five and six to prevent shifting. Cart seven will carry the tail spikes and the wing talons."
The clearing erupted into a massive, coordinated effort of grueling physical labor.
It took nearly two hours of backbreaking work. The drivers, utilizing heavy iron crowbars, thick hemp ropes, and sheer, brute Nordic strength, managed to slowly, meticulously dismantle the massive skeleton. The loud crack of heavy dragon bone separating from the spine echoed repeatedly through the trees.
Aerion walked among the carts, his golden eyes scanning every single inch of the dirt. He was absolutely relentless. He did not let a single, solitary fragment of bone, nor a single, chipped bronze scale remain in the dirt. Every ounce of the dragon was pure, unadulterated economic leverage, and he secured all of it.
By the time the sun had completely vanished below the jagged peaks of the mountains, plunging the clearing into the cool twilight, the operation was complete.
The seven heavy mining wagons groaned audibly under the massive, unprecedented weight of the dragon parts, the thick suspension creaking in protest, but holding firm. The loot was perfectly, evenly distributed.
Aerion stood near Bjorlam's carriage, surveying the massive convoy with a deep, intensely satisfied smirk. It was a logistical masterpiece.
"The cargo is entirely secured," Aerion announced to the group, pulling his dark robes around him against the evening chill. He turned to his group. "Mount up. We have a long, slow ride ahead of us."
Aeloria, Jenassa, Valdemar, Lydia, and Delphine climbed exhaustedly into the back of Bjorlam's covered carriage, taking their familiar positions on the wooden benches. Aerion climbed in last, taking his seat near the front, with Lupin the fox hopping up to curl into a warm ball on his lap.
Aerion nodded to the driver. "Take us home, Bjorlam. Maintain a steady pace with the convoy."
"You got it, my Thane!" Bjorlam called back.
He cracked his heavy leather whip. The draft horse snorted, leaning into the harness. Slowly, the massive, eight vehicle convoy began to roll out of the cratered clearing of Kynesgrove.
The heavy, iron rimmed wheels crunched loudly against the dirt path as they began the long, winding descent back ltoward the main road. The journey back to the Whiterun tundra would be incredibly slow and highly conspicuous, but as Aerion looked at the massive, bleach white skull of Sahloknir strapped securely into the wagon rolling directly behind them, he knew it was worth every single septim.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 540/540 Stamina: 560/560 Magicka: 750/750
Level: 158
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+3)/Lightning(+1)/Frost(+1)) (Level 67/92/56), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 52/50), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/38), Persuasion(+1) (Level 89), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level MAX), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor(+1) (Level 18), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii (Fade Spirit), Su (Air), & Laas (Life)
[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, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, & Dwarven Shield
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: 95.21 KG / 580 KG
Septims: 82,177