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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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.
The journey back through the mountains and tundras of Eastmarch was an agonizingly slow, grueling test of endurance.
The seven heavily reinforced mining wagons groaned and protested loudly with every single rotation of their thick, iron rimmed wheels. The sheer, concentrated mass of Sahloknir's ancient, bleached white bones and the thick, impenetrable piles of bronze scales weighed incredibly heavily on the axles.
The massive, thick muscled draft horses of Windhelm strained against their leather harnesses, their breath pluming in the cooling autumn air as they hauled the mythological bounty away from the cratered burial mound.
Bjorlam, driving the lead carriage with the heavily armored strike team in the back, deliberately held his horse to a slow, methodical walk. He constantly checked over his shoulder, ensuring he matched the sluggish pace of the ore wagons trailing behind him.
The driver wasn't just being courteous to the Windhelm teamsters, it was a matter of strict survival. Bjorlam knew perfectly well that hauling an absolute fortune in dragon bones across the open roads of Skyrim was practically begging for a bandit ambush. The only thing keeping the convoy secure was the terrifying presence of the High Elf mage, the Morag Tong assassin, the two heavily armored Housecarls, and the Dragonborn sitting in the back of his wooden canopy.
In Bjorlam's eyes, staying close to the people who had literally just swatted a dragon out of the sky was the only guarantee he would live to spend his septims for him and his family.
And the caravan was indeed heavily monitored.
Sitting in the back of the wagon, leaning her heavy Steel Plate armor against the wooden frame, Aeloria took her role as the vanguard seriously. Every hour or so, as the convoy wound its way through the dense, rocky pine forests of Eastmarch, the Dragonborn would close her bright blue eyes and reach into her chest.
"Laas," Aeloria would whisper, the ancient syllable slipping softly from her lips.
Instantly, her vision would completely wash out into a muted, monochromatic gray, violently pierced by the brilliant, pulsing red auras of life.
It was an incredible, flawless scouting tool. Through the dense tree lines and heavy boulders, Aeloria watched the glowing outlines of the world around them. She saw a pack of timber wolves tracking the convoy from a ridgeline, only for the red auras to tuck their tails and scatter when the wind shifted, carrying the scent of the dead apex predator.
At one point near the border of the Pale, Aeloria spotted a cluster of five distinct, humanoid red auras crouched perfectly still behind a large rock formation overlooking a narrow bend in the road. Bandits, lying in wait.
Aeloria simply stood up in the back of the carriage, casually resting the blazing, rune etched Axe of Morthal against her shoulder, and stared directly at the rock formation they were supposedly hidden behind.
As the massive, multi ton, horned skull of Sahloknir rolled past on the first mining wagon, its hollow eye sockets staring blankly into the forest, Aeloria watched the five red auras violently flinch, break their ambush formation, and sprint desperately away into the deep woods, completely abandoning the raid.
"The road remains clear," Aeloria reported with a satisfied smirk, sitting back down as the gray wash faded from her vision. "I think the skull is doing half the work for us."
"Intimidation is a highly effective, entirely cost free security measure," Aerion noted smoothly from his seat, gently stroking the soft fur of Lupin the fox resting in his lap.
They retraced the exact same path they had taken earlier that afternoon, but the atmosphere on the road had drastically changed. They were no longer an anonymous group of travelers in a covered wagon, they were a massive, rolling spectacle.
As they merged back onto the main paved highway leading toward Whiterun, they began to encounter other travelers.
A passing Khajiit trading caravan completely ground to a halt, the feline merchants dropping their satchels in the dirt, their slit eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated awe as they stared at the mountain of dragon bones rolling past.
A heavily armored Imperial patrol marching east stopped in their tracks, the soldiers nervously gripping their spears, murmuring to each other in hushed, reverent tones as they pointed at the massive bronze scales and the towering Nord woman sitting in the lead carriage.
The rumors were no longer just tavern whispers. The physical, undeniable proof of the Dragonborn and the dragon slayers was actively parading down the king's road.
By the time the sprawling, golden grass of the Whiterun plains finally opened up before them, the sun had long since vanished. The sky was a deep, ink black canvas, illuminated only by the massive, silver light of the moons, Secunda and Masser, casting long, eerie shadows across the tundra.
The heavy, exhausted convoy finally rolled to a grinding halt in front of the massive, spiked wooden palisades of the Aerion Estate.
The heavy iron-reinforced gates swung open immediately. The mercenary guards on the night shift stepped out with heavy iron torches, ready to receive their patron.
But as the flickering orange torchlight washed over the seven massive mining wagons, completely illuminating the colossal ribs, the jagged wing talons, and the massive, horned skull of the bronze dragon, the mercenaries completely lost their professional composure.
"By the blood of Shor!" Many of the mercenaries gasped the same thing, some even dropping their torch.
Aerion stepped down gracefully from the carriage, his dark robes entirely unwrinkled by the long journey. He didn't pause to let the awe settle, he went straight to work orchestrating the logistical matter.
"Sinmir! Uthgerd!" Aerion's melodic voice cut through the murmurs, echoing with absolute authority.
The mercenary captain and the fierce Nord warrior immediately snapped to attention, tearing their eyes away from the mythical haul.
"I need every available hand in the barracks out here immediately," Aerion commanded, pointing toward the heavy wagons. "We unload this cargo tonight. Direct the teamsters to pull the wagons through the gates and park them on the far right side of the compound."
He gestured toward the designated industrial sector of his estate.
"Stack the bones and the scales carefully near the smithing pavilion," Aerion detailed precisely. "Directly next to the area where Adrianne Avenicci's masons are currently laying the brickwork for the new forge and the heavy smelters. I want the materials staged and ready for crafting the moment the furnaces are operational."
"Right away, Boss!" Sinmir barked, immediately turning to his men. "You heard him! Put your backs into it! Get those gates wide open!"
The estate courtyard instantly transformed into a bustling, torch lit hive of heavy industrial labor. The mercenaries and the Windhelm drivers worked together, utilizing thick ropes and heavy wooden levers to carefully slide the massive dragon bones and the heavy piles of bronze scales off the wagons and onto the grass near the unfinished smithing area.
Aerion turned back to the exhausted Windhelm drivers and Bjorlam, who was wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Gentlemen," Aerion addressed the teamsters smoothly. "You have performed a monumental task today. The hour is incredibly late, and the roads are dark. I offer you the safety of my walls. You may stable your horses, rest in the spare bunks of the barracks, and partake of the hot stew in the campfire where the boys and gals could make morw. You may return to Windhelm tomorrow morning when the sun is up."
The drivers looked at each other, profoundly relieved that they didn't have to make the dangerous trek back across the plains in the dark.
"We humbly accept, my Thane," Bjorlam smiled tiredly, nodding his head. "Your hospitality is a blessing. We'll get the horses watered and bed down."
As the drivers led their exhausted draft horses toward the stables, Sinmir and Uthgerd the Unbroken broke away from the unloading detail, walking briskly toward where Aerion and Aeloria were standing.
Sinmir's rugged, battle scarred face was completely serious, his eyes darting between the massive dragon skull currently being lowered to the ground and the six people standing before him.
"Thane Aerion. Thane Aeloria," Sinmir began, his voice low and incredibly intense. "I have to ask. The rumors from the travelers said a black dragon attacked Kynesgrove. But those bones... those are bronze. Did you... did the six of you actually march up that hill and kill another dragon? Without the Jarl's army?"
Aerion offered a smooth, completely unbothered nod. He was fully aware of the sheer, terrifying reputation this would build for his private strike team.
"We did, Captain," Aerion confirmed calmly. But he expertly deflected the primary glory toward the figurehead who needed it most. He gestured toward the towering Nord woman. "However, the victory belongs entirely to the Dragonborn. Her mastery of the Thu'um was the absolute deciding factor. Her Voice staggered the beast, shattered its defenses, and she delivered the executioner's blow directly to its skull with her own two hands."
Sinmir and Uthgerd looked at Aeloria, their eyes wide with profound, warrior's respect. Slaying a dragon with a hundred men was a military victory, slaying one in a small squad was the stuff of legendary sagas.
Aeloria, however, immediately shook her head, refusing to take the sole credit.
"Don't let him play the humble scholar, Sinmir," Aeloria laughed, clapping a heavy steel gauntlet onto Aerion's shoulder. "I swung the axe, yes. But if it weren't for Aerion's magic, we would all be dead in the dirt right now. He shot the beast out of the sky with pure lightning, he blocked a wave of fire that would have melted our armor to slag, and he completely healed our broken bones in seconds with his holy light. He fought like a god of magic."
Uthgerd the Unbroken, a woman who respected raw strength above all else, let out a low, impressed whistle. She looked at the High Elf with a newfound, incredibly deep reverence.
"Then the bards will have to write a new song for the both of you," Uthgerd grinned fiercely.
Aerion smoothly shifted the conversation away from their martial prowess and back to cold, hard logistics.
"The glory is appreciated, but the reality is what matters right now," Aerion instructed, his golden eyes hardening into a look of absolute, unyielding command. He looked directly at Sinmir. "Captain, I want the security around this estate tightened to the absolute maximum. Triple the night patrols. Light every brazier on the walls."
He pointed toward the massive pile of mythical materials resting near the forge.
"By tomorrow morning, every single bandit, smuggler, and opportunistic thief from here to Riften will know that there is a literal fortune in dragon bone and scale sitting behind these wooden walls," Aerion warned him grimly. "They will come testing the perimeter like flies to honey. Do not let a single shadow cross the palisades. If anyone approaches this estate uninvited, you are authorized to use lethal force immediately."
Sinmir's posture straightened, his mercenary instincts flaring to life. He thrived on defensive strategy.
"Rest assured, Boss," Sinmir swore, tapping the hilt of his broadsword. "I will personally organize the watch rotation. Me, the boys, and the gals will keep this compound locked down tighter than the Blue Palace vaults. No one touches your property."
Uthgerd, unable to contain her warrior's curiosity, took a hesitant step toward the massive pile of bones.
"Thane Aerion," Uthgerd asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft and reverent. "May I... may I touch it? Just to feel the weight of it? I've swung steel my entire life, but I've never felt the bone of a dragon."
Aerion offered a slight, permissive smile. "You may, Uthgerd. Just ensure your gauntlets are clean. I do not want the scales scratched before they are properly treated at the forge."
Uthgerd grinned widely, marching over to the pile to marvel at the sheer density of the bronze scales alongside the other mercenaries.
With the cargo secured and the perimeter defense vastly upgraded, Aerion turned toward the main house. Aeloria, Valdemar, Lydia, Jenassa, and Lupin fell into step beside him, eager for the warmth of the hearth and a soft bed.
But as they approached the wooden porch, a figure detached itself from the shadows near the door.
Delphine.
The spymaster had her dark leather hood pulled back up, obscuring her sharp features. She had a small leather satchel slung across her shoulder. She did not look like she was planning on staying the night.
"Leaving so soon, innkeeper?" Aeloria asked smoothly, stopping at the base of the wooden steps.
Delphine stopped, looking at the assembled strike team. Her paranoid eyes lingered on the High Elf for a long, calculating moment, before she turned her attention fully to the Dragonborn.
"I am, Aeloria," Delphine stated, her voice tight and focused. "I cannot stay here. I am returning to Riverwood, back to the Sleeping Giant Inn. I have a secure base of operations there, and I need to utilize my remaining resources."
Aeloria frowned, stepping forward. "You're walking back to Riverwood in the dark? After the fight we just had? Stay the night, Delphine. The roads aren't safe."
"The roads are vastly safer for me than sitting still," Delphine countered grimly, her ingrained Blade instincts completely overriding her physical exhaustion. She shook her head. "I need to come up with a plan. A solid, foolproof operation to infiltrate the Dominion's intelligence network. I need to find out exactly what the Thalmor know about this dragon resurrection, even if I have to pry it out of their archives myself."
Aeloria let out a soft sigh. She could see the absolute, fanatic stubbornness burning in the older woman's eyes. The Dragonborn knew she couldn't cure three decades of hunted paranoia with a warm bowl of stew. Delphine was completely locked into her crusade against the Thalmor, regardless of the logical arguments presented earlier.
"I understand," Aeloria nodded respectfully, accepting the spymaster's decision. "I won't try to stop you. But you don't have to fight this shadow war alone anymore."
Aeloria offered a confident smile.
"When you figure out your plan, whatever it is, don't try to execute it by yourself," Aeloria instructed firmly. "Send a letter here to Whiterun. Aerion and I will come down and visit you at the inn. We will help you."
Delphine looked at the towering Nord woman, a flicker of genuine gratitude breaking through her hardened exterior. The Blades finally had their Dragonborn again.
"I will," Delphine promised softly. "Watch your back, Aeloria. The dragons are only the loudest threat."
Delphine gave one final, lingering glance toward Aerion. It was a look filled with complex, deeply rooted suspicion, acknowledging that the High Elf was a terrifyingly dangerous, entirely unknown variable that she still needed to solve.
Aerion simply offered her a slow, deeply mocking, aristocratic bow.
Delphine tightened the strap of her satchel, turned on her heel, and walked swiftly out the front gates of the estate, slipping seamlessly into the dark shadows of the Whiterun tundra. She disappeared into the night without a sound.
"She is a deeply troubled woman," Jenassa noted quietly, watching the gate close behind the spymaster.
"Paranoia is a heavy armor, but it eventually crushes the person wearing it," Aerion observed smoothly. "Come. Let us put the shadows behind us for the evening. The hearth awaits."
They climbed the wooden steps and pushed open the heavy oak door of the main house.
The interior was a haven of absolute, luxurious comfort. The central hearth fire was roaring, casting a brilliant, warm orange light across the expensive woven rugs. The sheer contrast between the freezing, bloody mud of the ancient burial mound and the pristine warmth of the estate was profoundly relieving.
Lydia and Valdemar, operating on sheer, exhausted muscle memory, immediately began unbuckling the heavy, dented plates of their steel armor, stacking the pieces neatly near the door. Jenassa retreated to a quiet corner, taking out a small cloth to meticulously clean the dragon blood from her daggers.
Aerion moved to the kitchen area. He didn't bother with a complex meal tonight. He retrieved several thick loaves of fresh bread, a large wheel of sharp goat cheese, and a heavy jug of spiced wine, placing them on the large wooden dining table.
"Eat," Aerion commanded softly. "Replenish your stamina."
They gathered around the table, tearing into the simple food with the ravenous hunger of warriors who had cheated death. The spiced wine burned pleasantly down their throats, washing away the lingering chill of the Eastmarch winds.
Aeloria took a long drink from her wooden goblet, leaning heavily back in her chair. She looked around the table at the people who had followed her into the mouth of hell and dragged her back out.
"So," Aeloria asked, her voice thick with exhaustion, yet laced with a quiet, undeniable sense of purpose. "We have the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller secured in the packs. The bronze dragon is dead. What is our objective for tomorrow?"
Aerion set his goblet down, his golden eyes reflecting the light of the hearth fire. The manipulation of the narrative was proceeding flawlessly.
"Tomorrow, Aeloria, we return to the path the gods laid out for you," Aerion answered smoothly, his melodic voice completely steady. "We ride back to Ivarstead. We climb the Seven Thousand Steps yet again." He looked directly at her, sealing the itinerary. "Tomorrow, we give the Horn to the Greybeards, and we will get the knowledge that the Greybeards possibly know."
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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