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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Aerion," Ysolda breathed, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across her face. She reached across the table, grabbing his hand with both of hers. "Those recipes... they are incredible. They are so simple, but completely unheard of. If we introduce those dishes to the Bannered Mare, we wouldn't just make up for the lost travelers. We would monopolize the entire dining economy of the city. People would travel from other holds just to taste them!"
"Then I shall personally write the recipes for you after this lunch is done," Aerion promised, returning her brilliant smile.
Ysolda then goes toe leave for a moment and soon returned quickly from her private quarters, bringing a small stack of high quality, blank parchment scrolls, a fresh bottle of ink, and a sharpened quill. She set them down in front of Aerion, watching with absolute fascination as the High Elf pushed his empty wine goblet aside and immediately went to work.
Aerion wrote with flawless, elegant calligraphy, his transmigrator mind flawlessly translating the modern culinary concepts of his past life into the practical, accessible ingredients of Skyrim.
"The key to the 'Burger' is the ratio of fat in the ground meat, and the intense, rapid application of heat," Aerion explained softly, his quill scratching rhythmically against the parchment. "I am detailing the exact cooking times. The skillet must be smoking hot. If the cook leaves the meat on the iron for too long, it will dry out and ruin the texture. It requires precision, not simply frying it at a roaring fire."
Ysolda leaned over his shoulder, her bright eyes eagerly scanning the elegant script. She absorbed every detail, her mercantile mind already sourcing the ingredients.
"We can buy the ground beef and venison in massive bulk from the local hunters' guilds in Falkreath, and the flour for the buns from the Battle-Born farm," Ysolda murmured, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "It's incredibly cost effective."
Aerion finished the first scroll, setting it aside to dry, and immediately began on the second, detailing the tomato reduction and the baking process for the pizza, followed by the precise temperature required for frying the potatoes.
"There is, however, one significant logistical hurdle we must address if you are to serve these dishes on a mass scale," Aerion noted, pausing his quill and looking up at her. "Storage. The raw ground meat and the prepared tomato reductions will spoil rapidly in the ambient warmth of the kitchens, especially during the summer months. You cannot afford to lose bulk inventory to rot."
Ysolda's brow furrowed. "Usually, we pack the raw meats in heavy salt or smoke them in the shed out back. But you said these recipes require fresh, unsalted meat to maintain their specific textures."
"Exactly," Aerion smiled, tapping the feather of his quill against the table. "Which is why we are going to circumvent standard preservation entirely. We are going to build a a cold storage."
Ysolda blinked, unfamiliar with the term. "A what?"
"An underground cold storage warehouse," Aerion elaborated smoothly, weaving his mastery of the arcane into her business model. "Do the inn's coffers currently possess the funds to hire a crew of stonemasons? I want a deep basement excavated directly beneath the kitchens, lined entirely with thick, insulating quarried stone, with a heavy, airtight iron door connecting it to the pantry."
"An underground basement?" Ysolda asked, calculating the massive construction costs. "I... yes, the inn has more than enough septims in reserve to fund the excavation and the materials. But Aerion, even underground, a stone room isn't cold enough to keep fresh meat from spoiling for more than a few days."
"It will be when I am finished with it," Aerion promised softly. "I am a master of Frost magic, Ysolda. Once the room is sealed, I will cast a series of permanent cryomantic runes into the stone itself. I will drop the ambient temperature of that basement to absolute, freezing zero. With regular, minor arcane upkeep from myself or another first mage to ensure the runes remain charged, the room will stay perpetually frozen. You could store a hundred pounds of raw beef down there, and it would remain perfectly fresh for months."
Ysolda stared at him, her mouth parting slightly in sheer, unadulterated awe. She wasn't just looking at a powerful mage or a wealthy Thane, she was looking at a man who could literally bend the laws of nature to optimize something unheard off before in application.
A brilliant, radiant smile broke across her face.
"It is possible," Ysolda breathed, the sheer profit margins dancing in her eyes. "By the Divines, Aerion, if we can actually do that... we won't just be a tavern. We will be the single most advanced cooking operation in the entire province."
"Then I leave the problem of the masonry entirely in your capable hands," Aerion said, rolling the dried parchment scrolls and tying them with a small leather cord. He handed them to her.
"I will secure the stonemasons first thing tomorrow morning," Ysolda swore, eagerly taking the scrolls. "And don't worry about the construction costs. I have deep connections with the local guilds. I'll haggle their prices down to the copper."
Aerion let out a rich, genuine chuckle, standing up from his chair.
"How could I possibly forget?" Aerion teased gently, reaching out to brush a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear. "You are the most ruthless negotiator in the Plains District. I pity the stonemason who tries to overcharge you."
He stepped back slightly, adjusting the sleeves of his immaculate dark robes.
"I must take my leave now, Ysolda," Aerion announced, his tone softening with genuine reluctance. "I need to return to the estate. I have incredibly important matters to finalize with the mercenary company for tomorrow morning."
Ysolda looked up at him, entirely understanding the heavy burdens he carried. She didn't press for details regarding the operation, she simply trusted him.
Without a word, she stepped fully into his personal space. She reached up, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders, and pressed a soft, warm, lingering kiss directly to his cheek.
Aerion actually blinked in genuine, momentary surprise. The sudden, innocent display of pure affection entirely bypassed his sociopathic armor. He looked down at her flushed, smiling face, and a feeling of profound, human warmth bloomed in his chest.
He didn't hesitate. Aerion leaned down, gently cupping her jaw, and returned the favor, pressing a firm, affectionate kiss to her own cheek, letting his lips linger for a second longer than was strictly necessary.
"I will see you soon, my dear," Aerion murmured.
"Be safe tomorrow, Aerion," Ysolda whispered back, her eyes shining.
With his economic empire firmly expanding, Aerion turned and descended the wooden stairs, exiting the Bannered Mare and stepping back out into the late afternoon sun of Whiterun.
He walked briskly down the winding, tiered streets of the city, his mind already shifting gears from merchant prince back to military commander. The assault on Fort Greymoor was less than twelve hours away, and every logistical detail needed to be flawless.
As he passed the massive, roaring fires of Warmaiden's, a soot stained figure hurried out to the edge of the cobblestones.
"Thane Aerion! A moment, please!"
Aerion paused, turning to see Adrianne Avenicci jogging toward him, wiping her blackened hands on a rag. Despite the exhaustion lining her face, she looked incredibly proud.
"I wanted to catch you before you left the city, my Thane," Adrianne smiled, catching her breath. "I wanted to let you know that the massive forge and the heavy smelter components you ordered for your estate... they are finally in the final stages of cooling. We will have them fully assembled, loaded onto heavy wagons, and delivered directly to your homestead within the next two days."
Aerion offered a deeply satisfied smile. The infrastructure for his armory was finally coming up.
"That is excellent news, Adrianne," Aerion praised her. "Your dedication to your craft is unparalleled. Once the components are successfully delivered and installed at the estate, I will personally ensure the remaining balance of the contract is paid to you in full, with a generous bonus for your promptness."
"Thank you, Thane Aerion! We'll have them there soon!" Adrianne bowed respectfully, hurrying back to her blazing forge.
Aerion continued his descent, passing through the massive main gates of the city and arriving at the Whiterun Stables. Skulvar had Revan brushed, watered, and entirely ready.
Aerion swung smoothly into the dark leather saddle, flicked the reins, and rode out onto the sprawling, golden expanse of the tundra.
The ride back to the homestead was brief, but the atmosphere waiting for him inside the palisades was noticeably tense.
When Aerion rode through the heavy wooden gates and dismounted near the stables, he immediately spotted Aeloria. The Dragonborn was pacing nervously near the central campfire, her heavy steel boots crunching loudly against the dirt. She was clutching a crumpled piece of parchment tightly in her gauntleted fist.
When she saw Aerion, she immediately broke off her pacing and marched directly toward him.
"Aerion," Aeloria greeted him, her voice tight with a mixture of anxiety and deeply ingrained heroic obligation. "We have a problem. Or, rather, a massive complication."
Aerion handed Revan's reins to a stable hand and turned his full, calm attention to her. "What has occurred, Aeloria?"
She held up the crumpled parchment. "A courier just rode up to the gates not ten minutes ago. It's a letter from Delphine. It's marked highly urgent. She says she has finally finalized her plan to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy, and she demands that we ride back to Riverwood to meet with her as soon as we can."
Aerion's golden eyes narrowed slightly.
Diplomatic Immunity, he cataloged instantly. The spymaster had finally managed to secure the invitations and the smuggler contact in Solitude to breach Elenwen's compound.
It was a pivotal moment in the standard narrative. But Aerion had absolutely no intention of following the standard narrative. Breaking into the Thalmor Embassy was a reckless, chaotic, high casualty suicide mission that offered virtually zero tangible reward. More importantly, it actively forced the Dragonborn to operate under the command of the paranoid Blades, validating Delphine's delusions of grandeur.
He needed to amputate the spymaster's influence entirely, right here and now.
Aerion clasped his hands behind his back, his expression hardening into a mask of cold, pragmatic reason.
"I see," Aerion replied, his melodic voice completely devoid of enthusiasm. He looked directly into her anxious blue eyes. "Aeloria, I am going to be entirely blunt with you. I have absolutely no desire to be involved in this specific matter. And I strongly suggest that you adopt the exact same position."
Aeloria blinked, entirely taken aback by his flat refusal. "What? Aerion, she says it's our only lead on finding out why the dragons are returning!"
"It is not a lead, Aeloria," Aerion corrected her sharply, his tone cutting through her heroic naivety. "It is a wild, desperate goose chase born entirely of an old woman's unmedicated paranoia. Think about the logistics. You are suggesting that we casually waltz into the most heavily fortified, magically warded diplomatic compound in the entire province, completely surrounded by elite Justiciars who would love nothing more than to torture us to death, all on the incredibly flimsy, illogical assumption that the Aldmeri Dominion is secretly summoning ancient dragons."
He took a step closer, ensuring his words carried absolute, undeniable weight.
"If you truly want the Thalmor to put their crosshairs permanently on your back, then by all means, follow the innkeeper into the fire," Aerion warned her grimly. "But I know vastly more about the arcane mechanics of this world than Delphine could ever possibly hope to comprehend in her entire lifetime. And I am telling you, with absolute certainty, that the Thalmor are not behind this."
Aeloria stared at him, her brow furrowing in deep, profound confusion.
"You know more?" Aeloria repeated, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Aerion, what exactly do you mean by that? If you know something about the dragons, why haven't you told me?"
Aerion knew this was the critical juncture. He could not reveal his transmigrator knowledge, but he needed her absolute, unquestioning compliance. He needed to weaponize the deep, unshakeable bond they had forged in blood.
He didn't cast a spell, but he actively engaged his Persuasion skill. His golden eyes softened, the cold pragmatism melting into a look of profound, genuine, deeply personal loyalty. The sheer force of his charisma washed over her, making his next words resonate not just in her ears, but in the very core of her soul.
"Aeloria," Aerion murmured, his voice incredibly gentle, yet carrying the crushing weight of their shared history. "Look at me. Think about how many times we have drawn steel together. Think about the life and death battles we have survived side by side."
He stepped even closer, his presence commanding her absolute attention.
"I pulled you from the executioner's block at Helgen when the sky was raining fire," Aerion reminded her, his voice thrumming with persuasive power. "I stood with you in the ash of the Western Watchtower. I healed your injuries on the slopes of Kynesgrove. I have guided you, funded you, and protected you since the moment you realized your destiny as the Dragonborn. I have never, ever led you astray."
He held her gaze, refusing to let her look away. "Do you trust me, Aeloria? Or do you trust a paranoid bartender who lied to your face?"
The effect of the Persuasion skill, combined with the undeniable, factual truth of his unwavering support, was absolute.
Aeloria felt the conflict in her chest instantly dissolve. The anxiety surrounding Delphine's letter evaporated, completely replaced by a overwhelming sense of loyalty to the High Elf standing before her. He was right. He had literally saved her life more times than she could count. He was the reason she was standing here in polished steel, rather than lying in an unmarked grave.
"Of course I trust you, Aerion," Aeloria answered immediately, her voice thick with genuine emotion. "I trust you with my life. You have done everything for me."
She looked down at the crumpled letter in her hand, her heroic instincts giving one last, feeble twitch of protest.
"But... we can't just ignore a possible lead, can we?" she asked softly, seeking his absolute confirmation.
"It is a dead end that will only get you killed," Aerion stated with final, unbreakable authority. "If you choose to ride to Riverwood and help her assault that embassy... I will not follow you. I will not risk my life, or the lives of my retainers, for a paranoid delusion that will yield absolutely zero important clues. Believe me."
He placed a gentle, reassuring hand on her heavy steel pauldron.
"We do not need the Blades," Aerion promised her, his voice a comforting anchor. "I will delve further into the ancient texts and the arcane libraries. We will work with the Greybeards to uncover the true source of the dragon problem. We will find the answer together, utilizing logic and power, not espionage and suicide missions."
Aeloria was silent for a long, heavy moment. She looked at the letter, and then looked back up into the golden, unwavering eyes of her closest friend and greatest protector.
She let out a long, heavy sigh.
Aeloria slowly crushed the parchment into a tight ball, completely abandoning the path of the Blades.
"You're right," Aeloria agreed, her voice resolute. She offered him a tired, deeply grateful smile. "You are my lifesaver, Aerion. I can never repay what you have done for me. The absolute least I can do is listen to your counsel. I won't go to Riverwood. I'll stay here."
Aerion smiled, a deep, triumphant warmth spreading through his chest. He had successfully rewritten the narrative.
"Thank you for your confidence in me, Aeloria," Aerion said softly. "I promise you, it is not misplaced. Now, put the shadows of the Thalmor from your mind. We have vastly more pressing, tangible matters to discuss. The assault on Fort Greymoor requires our absolute focus."
Aeloria nodded firmly, tossing the crumpled letter into the nearby campfire, where it quickly blackened and turned to ash.
The remainder of the day passed in a blur of focused lethal preparation. The estate rang with the sound of whetstones grinding against steel sword, the twang of heavy bow strings being tested, and the heavy thud of armor plates being securely buckled. The mercenaries ate a massive, protein heavy dinner, loading their bodies with the necessary caloric fuel for a dawn siege.
Aerion spent the evening in deep meditation, ensuring his Magicka reserves were completely, absolutely topped off. The impending battle would require a large volume of Destruction magic.
The estate fell entirely silent shortly after sunset, the warriors catching a few precious hours of sleep before the march.
The next morning, the Whiterun tundra was still completely swallowed by the freezing, pitch black darkness of the deep night. It was three hours past midnight. The air was bone chillingly cold, a thick, icy mist rolling off the distant mountains and clinging to the frost covered grass.
In the center courtyard of the Estate, illuminated only by the faint, flickering light of a few carefully shielded torches, the strike force was assembled.
Twenty one warriors stood in absolute, terrifying silence.
Sinmir and Uthgerd stood at the absolute front of the heavy infantry vanguard, their massive weapons resting on their shoulders, their eyes hard and focused.
Lydia and Valdemar stood right behind them, their heavy iron shields locked tightly together in a pristine, impenetrable wall of Whiterun steel. Jenassa and the mercenary archers were gathered on the flanks, their bowstrings already strung, quivers bristling with deadly, razor sharp arrows.
Aeloria stood slightly ahead of the vanguard, the heavy leather haft of the Axe of Morthal gripped tightly in her gauntleted hands. The red runes etched into the ebony blade pulsed with a faint, angry glow in the dark.
Aerion walked slowly out of the shadows, his dark robes entirely blending into the night. His golden eyes swept over his private army. They were ready.
"Listen closely," Aerion commanded, his voice a low, carrying whisper that easily reached every warrior in the courtyard. "We march in absolute silence. No talking. No clanking of gear. We use the darkness to conceal our approach until we reach the treeline directly outside the fort."
He paced slowly in front of the formation, his gaze locking onto each of the key commanders.
"Keep your eyes wide open, and protect the man or woman standing beside you," Aerion instructed, instilling the necessary life saving instinct required for a siege. "Do not break formation to chase glory. If the shield wall shatters, the battle is lost."
Aerion paused, ensuring he had their absolute, undivided attention. It was time to shatter their preconceived notions of the engagement and prime their adrenaline for mass slaughter.
"I have spent the last twenty four hours actively probing the defenses of the fortification," Aerion revealed smoothly.
He didn't explain that his 'probing' consisted of looking through the eyes of a dozen black ravens perched on the crumbling stone towers of the fort, and feeling the vibrations of hundreds of boots through the sensory web of the rats infesting the dungeons. He simply presented the terrifying, undeniable intelligence.
"We are not walking into a minor bandit camp," Aerion stated, his voice dropping into a register of grim, absolute reality. "My scouts estimate the garrison currently holding Fort Greymoor numbers in the hundreds."
A collective, sharp intake of breath echoed through the mercenary ranks.
Sinmir's grip on his greatsword tightened until his knuckles popped. Uthgerd's eyes widened in sheer, violent anticipation. Aeloria let out a low, dangerous growl, her Dragonborn blood instantly igniting at the prospect of overwhelming odds.
"Hundreds," Aerion confirmed, letting the terrifying number sink in. "A massive numbers of armed bandits, supplemented by dozens of highly lethal outcast mages who will rain fire and frost upon the courtyard the moment the gates fall."
He stopped pacing, standing directly in front of his army. He did not offer them comfort; he offered them absolute, unyielding confidence.
"They have the numbers," Aerion declared, his golden eyes flashing with raw, crackling arcane power. "But we have the element of surprise, we have the Voice of the Dragonborn, and we have the absolute, devastating superiority of magic and steel."
He raised his right hand, the air around his fingertips beginning to violently shimmer and distort with the intense, localized heat of a contained plasma storm.
"We will show them absolutely no mercy, because they will show us none," Aerion commanded, his voice ringing with the finality of an executioner's gavel.
"Open the gates!"
The heavy iron crossbar was lifted, and the massive wooden doors of the estate swung silently open, revealing the freezing, mist shrouded darkness of the open plains. "March," Aerion ordered. As one terrifying, unified entity, the private army of Tribune Aerion stepped out into the night, marching silently across the tundra toward the looming, jagged silhouette of Fort Greymoor. The slaughter was about to begin.
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[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, 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: 94.21 KG / 630 KG
Septims: 81,582