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!)
...
Aeloria was sitting on a heavy wooden log, dressed in a simple, comfortable linen tunic that showed off her heavily scarred, powerfully muscled arms. She was currently locked in a highly animated, deeply amusing storytelling session with Uthgerd the Unbroken and three of the other female mercenaries Sinmir had hired.
Jenassa was sitting slightly apart from the group on a smaller stool, quietly sharpening an iron dagger, but a rare, genuine smile was visible on the Morag Tong assassin's face as she listened to the banter.
"I swear to you, by the breath of Kyne," Aeloria laughed, slapping her knee enthusiastically, "the giant didn't even swing his club! He just looked at the little Wood Elf, let out a massive grunt, and kicked him completely over the tree line! I have never seen a Mer fly so far in my entire life!"
Uthgerd threw her head back, letting out a booming, highly appreciative roar of laughter, raising her wooden tankard of mead into the air.
"That is what happens when you try to steal a mammoth cheese wheel from a walking mountain!" Uthgerd cheered, clashing her tankard against Aeloria's. "To the flying Elf!"
"To the flying Elf!" the other mercenaries echoed, drinking deeply from their mugs.
Aerion stood in the shadows for a moment, observing the scene.
It was a perfect, brilliant snapshot of camaraderie. The Dragonborn wasn't isolated on a mountaintop, and she wasn't bogged down in high level geopolitical stress. She was right here, in the dirt, bonding with the hardened, pragmatic warriors of Skyrim. She was finding her footing, building genuine friendships with women who understood the weight of a blade and the thrill of survival.
She is perfectly primed for the Companions, Aerion confirmed internally, highly satisfied with her psychological state. She craves the pack. She craves the shield brotherhood.
He stepped out of the shadows, the sunlight catching the gold embroidery of his robes.
"It seems the rigors of High Hrothgar have not completely drained your spirits, Aeloria," Aerion greeted them, his melodic voice smooth and warm.
The women around the campfire looked up, their laughter subsiding into respectful, welcoming smiles.
"Aerion!" Aeloria grinned, shifting on the log to make room. "You made excellent time from the city. Come, sit by the fire. Uthgerd was just telling me about the time she accidentally broke a man's jaw in the Bannered Mare for trying to cheat her at cards."
"It was an educational fracture," Uthgerd corrected proudly, entirely unashamed.
Aerion chuckled, stepping toward the warmth of the flames.
He moved with his usual, effortless grace, the heavy, expensive fabric of his dark robes completely unbothered by the dirt and ash. He did not act like a haughty lord inspecting his troops, he simply took a seat on one of the sturdy wooden logs, seamlessly integrating himself into the camaraderie.
The moment he sat down, Uthgerd reached across the circle. She grabbed an empty, heavy iron tankard, tilting a massive wooden cask of honey mead over it. The golden, fragrant liquid splashed into the cup until it was brimming. She passed it to the High Elf with a fierce, respectful grin.
"Drink up, Patron," Uthgerd insisted, her voice booming over the crackle of the fire. "You earned a dozen of these for the the many works he have done, like swatting that lizard out of the sky yesterday."
Aerion accepted the tankard with a smooth nod of thanks. He brought the heavy iron rim to his lips and took a long, measured drink. The mead was strong, sharp, and incredibly sweet, burning pleasantly down his throat. He lowered the tankard, casually wiping a stray drop from his mouth with the back of his hand, entirely at ease in the rugged company.
He let the comfortable, boisterous banter of the mercenaries wash over him for a few minutes, his golden eyes reflecting the flames. But his transmigrator mind was already calculating the next sequence of events. He needed to place his most powerful piece securely on the board before he abandoned the center of the province.
Aerion turned his head, looking at the towering Nord woman sitting a few feet away. Aeloria had shed her heavy steel breastplate, wearing only her padded linen gambeson, looking entirely relaxed as she warmed her hands by the fire.
"Tell me, Aeloria," Aerion began, his melodic voice cutting smoothly through the ambient noise of the courtyard. "In all your travels, and in all the stories you have undoubtedly heard sung in the taverns... what do you know of the Companions?"
Before Aeloria could even open her mouth to draw a breath, the serene atmosphere of the campfire was violently, aggressively shattered.
CLANG!
A deafening, metallic crash echoed across the courtyard. Uthgerd the Unbroken had violently slammed her heavy iron tankard directly down against her own steel plated thigh. The sheer, unadulterated force of her anger caused the thick iron of the mug to instantly dent inward, sending a massive splash of golden mead flying into the fire, where it hissed and flared into a bright pillar of sparks.
"Why in Oblivion are we suddenly talking about them, Patron?" Uthgerd demanded.
Her voice had dropped into a dangerous, gravelly snarl. The jovial, boisterous mercenary had vanished, instantly replaced by a woman harboring a deep, bitter, and violently unresolved grudge.
Aerion didn't flinch at the sudden outburst. He simply looked at the enraged Nord, his expression completely calm and analytical.
"I brought them up, Uthgerd," Aerion replied smoothly, "because I feel that the Dragonborn is an absolutely perfect fit to stand shoulder to shoulder with the direct successors of the Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor. It is a logical progression of her martial destiny."
"Bah!" Uthgerd spat, waving her dented tankard in a dismissive, highly aggressive gesture toward the distant silhouette of the city. "They are nothing but a bunch of worthless, hypocritical milk drinkers now! Successors of Ysgramor? Please. They are a shadow of what they used to be."
The other mercenaries around the fire fell completely silent, exchanging nervous glances. Everyone in Whiterun knew Uthgerd's history with the legendary mercenary company, but very few dared to bring it up to her face.
"You know exactly why they decided not to let me join," Uthgerd continued, her voice growing louder and more aggravated with every syllable, her face flushing with anger. "They said my temper was too volatile! They said my fighting style lacked 'honor'! They put me in the sparring ring with some untested whelp, pushed me to the absolute edge, and when I fought back like a true Nord and accidents happened... they cast me out like a stray dog!"
Uthgerd stood up from her log, pacing furiously at the edge of the firelight.
"Their reputation isn't what it used to be!" she shouted, pointing a thick, calloused finger at Aerion. "They prance around Jorrvaskr acting like they hold the moral high ground, but they are just highly paid thugs with better mead! Aeloria doesn't need them!"
Aerion let her vent. He understood the psychological necessity of the release. When she finally paused to take a heavy, ragged breath, Aerion raised a single, calming hand. He didn't speak with authority, he spoke with deep, empathetic reason.
"Calm down, Uthgerd," Aerion instructed softly, his voice a soothing balm against her fiery temper. "There is no need to be so aggravated. Sit. Please."
Uthgerd glared at the fire for a long moment before letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh. She slowly sank back down onto the wooden log, tossing her ruined tankard into the dirt.
"I completely understand your position, Uthgerd," Aerion assured her, his golden eyes locking onto hers with genuine sincerity. "I know the history of your trial, and I agree that the leadership of Jorrvaskr handled your past experience with a profound lack of grace. They judged you for possessing the very strength they claim to revere."
Uthgerd nodded sharply, feeling validated by the patron she deeply respected.
"But you must separate your personal history from the overarching reality of our situation," Aerion reasoned, pivoting the conversation seamlessly back to his primary objective. He gestured toward Aeloria. "Look at the threats we are currently facing. We are not fighting bandits or cave bears. We are fighting immortal, ancient dragons that can resurrect their fallen generals and burn entire holds to ash."
Aerion leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression entirely serious.
"Aeloria is the Dragonborn. She is the ultimate weapon against this menace," Aerion stated. "But she is only one woman. To truly face the impending world ending threat, she absolutely requires the backing of a vast, highly coordinated network of able bodied, fiercely loyal, battle hardened warriors."
He systematically eliminated the other options on the board.
"She cannot rely on the guards of the local holds, their loyalties are fractured, and their training is insufficient," Aerion explained coldly. "She cannot rely on the Imperial Legion, nor the Stormcloak rebellion, because both armies are entirely consumed by the civil war. They will use her as a political pawn, not a warrior. She needs an independent faction. She needs a pack."
Aeloria, who had been listening to the exchange with rapt attention, finally chimed in. Her bright blue eyes were wide, reflecting the dancing flames of the campfire.
"He makes a very good point, Uthgerd," Aeloria said softly, leaning forward. "And... to be completely honest, I have always dreamed of walking through the doors of Jorrvaskr."
The Dragonborn looked down at her calloused hands, a nostalgic, deeply fond smile touching her lips.
"When I was just a little girl, before my parents passed, they used to tell me the stories," Aeloria murmured, her voice carrying the heavy weight of Nordic reverence. "They told me about Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions crossing the Sea of Ghosts. They told me about the Skyforge, and the legendary Harbingers who protected this land. For a Nord who lives by the blade... joining the Companions is the absolute pinnacle of honor. It is everything I ever wanted before the Greybeards called my name."
Aeloria looked over at Uthgerd, her expression softening with genuine, profound empathy.
"I am so incredibly sorry that you were treated that way, Uthgerd," Aeloria offered gently. "It was wrong of them to cast you out for an accident in the ring. But perhaps... perhaps things have changed since then. The leadership might have shifted their perspectives. And if I manage to join their ranks and prove my worth... maybe I can help convince the Circle to reconsider their stance on you. A warrior of your caliber belongs in the mead hall, not exiled from it."
The hardened, deeply scarred Nord warrior stared at the Dragonborn. The sheer, unadulterated kindness and genuine respect in Aeloria's voice entirely stripped the anger from Uthgerd's chest. She let out a loud, wet snort, rapidly blinking her eyes to clear a sudden, highly uncharacteristic sting of moisture.
"I thank you for your kindness, Aeloria," Uthgerd replied, her voice thick with emotion. She shook her head stubbornly. "But you don't need to fight my battles for me. I made a promise to myself the day they threw me out. I swore I would never join those arrogant milk drinkers, even if they crawled on their knees and begged me. My blade belongs to Thane Aerion now, and I am content with my lot."
Uthgerd crossed her arms over her chest and fell entirely silent, refusing to say another word against the girl's childhood dream.
With the emotional hurdle cleared, Aeloria turned her full attention back to the High Elf.
"So, Aerion," Aeloria asked, a spark of absolute excitement reigniting in her eyes. "You honestly recommend that I attempt to join them? You think they will take me?"
Aerion offered a slow, deeply confident nod. "I absolutely recommend it, Aeloria. It is the perfect crucible to further temper your combat skills, and it provides you with an unassailable political standing within the city."
He outlined the precise approach.
"When you march up to Jorrvaskr tomorrow," Aerion instructed smoothly, "do not speak to the whelps in the yard. Go directly into the main hall and seek out the members of the Circle, their leadership ranks. Look for Farkas, Vilkas, and Aela the Huntress. The three of them are... acquaintances of mine."
Aerion used the term 'acquaintances' as a masterful, modest understatement. He had previously leveraged his immense wealth to anonymously fund several of their bounties and ensure their supply lines were secure, earning a quiet, highly guarded measure of respect from the lycanthropic leadership.
"Simply tell them that you are a friend of mine, and vastly more importantly, tell them exactly who you are," Aerion advised. "Tell them you are the Dragonborn. The Circle may be stubbornly traditional, but they are absolutely not stupid. Having the literal, mythological savior of Skyrim wearing the armor of the Companions would be an unprecedented boon for their prestige and their legacy. They will undoubtedly give you a chance to prove yourself worthy in the yard."
Aeloria nodded her head firmly, her mind already racing with the prospect of drawing steel in the legendary sparring ring.
"I will do exactly that," Aeloria agreed, a massive smile breaking across her face. "I'll go into the city first thing tomorrow morning and apply."
She looked at Aerion, expecting him to seamlessly integrate himself into the plan, as he always did. "Will you come with me to Jorrvaskr? To make the introductions?"
Aerion shook his head slowly. The time for hand holding was over. It was time to divide and conquer.
"No, Aeloria, I will not be accompanying you to the mead hall," Aerion stated calmly, entirely shattering her assumption. "I will be leaving the estate. I am going to travel north, to the capital city of Solitude."
The sudden announcement hit the campfire like a physical weight.
Jenassa, who had been quietly lingering in the shadows of the palisades, immediately stepped forward into the firelight. Her crimson eyes locked onto her Patron, her professional assassin instincts instantly overriding her relaxation.
"Solitude?" Jenassa asked, her voice laced with sharp, tactical surprise. She knew the capital was the absolute stronghold of the Imperial Legion and swarming with Thalmor diplomats. It was a viper's nest of high level politics. "Patron, do you require Lydia and myself to follow you on this journey?"
Aerion turned his golden eyes toward the Morag Tong veteran. "I do, Jenassa. You and Lydia will pack your gear right away. You will both accompany me to the capital."
Aeloria frowned, leaning forward on her log. The sudden departure of her entire support structure felt jarring.
"Solitude?" Aeloria questioned, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Aerion, what exactly are you going to do all the way up in Haafingar? We just saved Eastmarch, and Delphine is expecting us to help her with whatever crazy Thalmor plan she is brewing down in Riverwood."
"What I am doing in Solitude is strictly business, Aeloria," Aerion replied smoothly, maintaining a veil of absolute, impenetrable vagueness. He had absolutely no intention of telling the fiercely independent, Nordic Dragonborn that he was actively planning to enlist in the Imperial Legion to hijack the civil war. She wouldn't understand the long term necessity of the manipulation.
"It is a complex matter regarding the expansion of my trade networks and the securing of certain... political assets," Aerion lied flawlessly, waving a hand dismissively. "Do not worry about Delphine's paranoia, and do not worry about my affairs. I need you to focus entirely on adapting to the hierarchy of the Companions. Earn your place in their ranks."
Aeloria still looked slightly uneasy, but she trusted him implicitly. He had never steered her wrong before.
"How long will you be gone?" she asked quietly.
"I will not be gone long," Aerion assured her, offering a warm, reassuring smile. "Perhaps a week, no more than three weeks at the absolute most. The journey is long, but I will return the moment the business is concluded. I will be departing today, shortly after we conclude this fire."
Aeloria let out a long breath, nodding her head in acceptance. She stood up from the log, walking over to the High Elf and offering him a firm, respectful warrior's clasp on the forearm.
"Then I wish you a safe journey, Aerion," Aeloria said sincerely, her bright blue eyes filled with genuine care. "May the roads be clear, and may the Divines watch over you."
Aerion chuckled softly, returning the strong grip. "There is absolutely no need to worry about my safety, Aeloria. With my mastery of the arcane, and with Jenassa and Lydia standing beside me, there are very few threats on this continent that could cause us any genuine danger."
He offered her a deeply amused, highly confident smirk.
"Perhaps the only thing we truly need to fear on the road is encountering another ancient dragon," Aerion joked dryly. "If we slay another one in the tundra, we would be entirely incapable of permanently absorbing its soul without you there to eat the magic. We would have to haul its bones all the way back here just to prove it happened."
Aeloria laughed loudly, the tension breaking completely. "Just try not to kill any myths without me! Leave some glory for the rest of us!"
With the farewells officially concluded, Aerion turned away from the campfire.
"Lydia," Aerion called out, his voice projecting across the courtyard toward the main house.
The heavy oak doors opened instantly. The dutiful Housecarl stepped out onto the porch, already clad in her polished steel armor. "Yes, my Thane?"
"Go to the estate storage," Aerion commanded crisply. "Pack standard travel rations and three reinforced waterskins into your heavy backpack. Secure your weapons. We depart for Solitude immediately."
"It will be done, Thane Aerion," Lydia saluted, immediately turning back inside to gather the supplies.
Aerion walked toward the stables. Jenassa fell silently into step right behind him, pulling the dark hood of her cloak up over her head, entirely shifting back into the lethal, vigilant mindset of a bodyguard on the open road.
Within twenty minutes, the small, elite group was fully prepped and ready to ride.
Aerion swung effortlessly up into the dark leather saddle of Revan. The massive, pure black draft horse let out a powerful, rumbling snort, its hooves stamping the dirt of the courtyard, eager to run.
Behind him, Jenassa and Lydia had coordinated their mounts. Since they were traveling light and fast, they had opted to share. Jenassa sat in the saddle of her incredibly swift, beautiful bay horse, holding the leather reins with practiced ease.
Lydia, wearing her heavy Whiterun steel, sat securely behind the assassin on the extended saddle, her arms wrapped tightly around Jenassa's waist to maintain her balance, her heavy iron shield strapped securely across her back.
Aeloria, Sinmir, Uthgerd, and the rest of the mercenaries gathered near the open gates to see them off.
"Keep the perimeter tight, Captain," Aerion ordered, looking down at Sinmir. "Do not let the forge fires die."
"The estate is a fortress, Patron," Sinmir swore, crossing his arms. "Safe travels."
Aerion offered a final, respectful nod to the Dragonborn. He gave the leather reins a sharp, decisive flick.
Revan surged forward, the massive muscles of the warhorse propelling them out of the estate gates and onto the paved cobblestone highway. Jenassa spurred the bay horse into a rapid canter, following flawlessly in the High Elf's wake.
They didn't head south toward the city gates. Aerion pulled the left rein, directing the horses westward.
The journey to Solitude was long and fraught with potential hazards. They had to cross the sprawling, golden grass of the Whiterun tundra, navigate the rugged, bandit infested hills of the area, push through the freezing, lethal swamps of Hjaalmarch, and finally ascend the treacherous, rocky mountain passes of Haafingar. As the sun began its slow descent toward the western horizon, casting long, dramatic shadows across the plains, Aerion's golden eyes remained fixed entirely on the path ahead.
_____________________________
[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 630/630 Stamina: 660/660 Magicka: 830/830
Level: 172
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(+2)/Frost(+1)) (Level 97/0/84), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 79/50), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/38), Persuasion(+1) (Level 89), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 0), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor(+1) (Level 50), 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 / 630 KG
Septims: 82,057