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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Jarl Balgruuf waved his hand dismissively. "I will have Commander Caius march a cohort out to the fort before the sun sets today," He promised, still chuckling. "You can send your sellswords home. The fort is ours."
The heavy tension that had filled the Jarl's private solar slowly dissipated, replaced by a firm, mutual understanding.
Aerion offered a warm, genuine smile, nodding his head in acknowledgment of the Jarl's steadfast position.
He reached across the wooden war table, extending his hand. Jarl Balgruuf met him halfway, gripping the High Elf's hand in a firm, calloused handshake that sealed the unwritten treaty between them.
"You have my thanks, Aerion," Balgruuf said, his deep voice carrying a note of quiet respect. He released the handshake and rested his hands on his belt. "I have a strong feeling that you could have forced a few more terms onto the table today. General Tullius and Legate Rikke undoubtedly expected you to extract a formal concession in exchange for a stone fortress. Yet, you didn't."
Aerion's smile softened into something far more grounded. He looked around the room, glancing at Aeloria, Proventus, and finally back to the Jarl.
"While I am a Tribune of the Imperial Legion now, Jarl Balgruuf, my loyalties are rooted here first," Aerion answered smoothly, his tone entirely sincere. "When I arrived in Skyrim, it was Whiterun that accepted me. You allowed me to purchase land, establish my trade, and build my home within your borders without prejudice. I do not forget such hospitality. Returning Fort Greymoor to your hands is simply my way of repaying that initial favor."
Jarl Balgruuf studied him for a moment, seeing the truth in the statement. The Jarl gave a slow, appreciative nod and stepped around the table, clapping a heavy hand onto Aerion's shoulder.
"Whiterun remembers its friends, Tribune," Jarl Balgruuf stated firmly.
The Jarl turned toward the stairwell, his voice booming with renewed, decisive energy. "Guards! Send for Commander Caius immediately!"
Less than a minute later, the heavy footsteps of the Whiterun guard commander echoed on the wooden stairs. Caius, an older, seasoned Imperial who had served Balgruuf for years, hurried into the solar. He snapped to attention, bringing a fist to his chest plate.
"You summoned me, my Jarl?" Caius asked, glancing briefly at the Thanes and the tense advisors. "What are your orders?"
"Gather one hundred of our best men from the barracks, Commander," Jarl Balgruuf ordered briskly, pacing back toward the map. "I want them fully armed and armored within the hour. Furthermore, coordinate with the quartermaster. Prepare a heavy supply wagon with enough grain, salted meat, and ale to sustain those hundred men for a full month."
Caius blinked, entirely taken aback by the sheer scale of the mobilization. "A hundred men? My Lord, where are we marching them?"
"You are marching them west, along the king's road," Jarl Balgruuf declared, a proud smirk touching his lips. "You will accompany Thane Aerion and Thane Aeloria to Fort Greymoor. You are to formally accept the handover of the fortress. It has returned to Whiterun's hands."
Caius's eyes went wide. He looked at the High Elf and the Dragonborn in absolute disbelief. The city guard had been requesting the resources to clear that bandit stronghold for over a year.
"Fort Greymoor?" Caius repeated, stunned. "How is that even possible, my Lord?"
"The impossible seems to be a regular occurrence when these two are involved," Balgruuf chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "All of this is due to the efforts of Thane Aerion and Thane Aeloria. Now, do not waste time with questions. Go immediately and prepare the men as I have ordered."
"Yes, my Jarl! Right away!" Caius saluted sharply, turning on his heel and rushing back down the stairs to rouse the barracks.
With the military logistics set in motion, Jarl Balgruuf's demeanor shifted back to that of a gracious host. He looked at Aerion, Aeloria, and Lydia, noting the dust on their boots and the weariness in their posture.
"Come," Jarl Balgruuf insisted, gesturing toward the stairs. "The morning is half gone, and you all look famished. Let us return to the hall. You will eat before you ride out again."
Jarl Balgruuf led the group back down to the Great Porch. The roaring fire pit was still surrounded by the city's nobility, who immediately stopped their quiet murmuring the moment the Jarl reappeared.
"See to it that my Thanes are well fed," Jarl Balgruuf ordered a passing servant, before returning to his throne.
Aerion led Aeloria and Lydia, toward the long oak tables. With deliberate, calculated intent, Aerion bypassed the seats at the left long table where the Graymanes are and guided his group directly to the right side of the hall, taking seats at the table dominated by the Battle-Born clan and their Imperial leaning clique.
It was a subtle but massive political honor.
Olfrid Battle-Born's chest puffed out with pride, while Idolaf offered a wide, welcoming grin, eagerly making room on the bench. Across the aisle, Vignar Gray-Mane's eyes narrowed into a fierce glare.
Idolaf, never one to miss an opportunity to press an advantage, immediately turned his head and cast a highly smug, superior smirk across the aisle directly at Vignar. The old Gray-Mane patriarch simply let out a loud, disdainful snort, gripping his tankard of mead tightly and refusing to take the bait. He knew a vocal response would only give Idolaf the satisfaction of a public argument.
Ignored by his rival, Idolaf happily turned his full attention back to the Thanes as the servants brought out plates of roasted meats, fresh bread, and warm cheese.
"An honor to share a table with you, Thane Aerion, Thane Aeloria," Idolaf greeted them, leaning in slightly to get closer to the High Elf's sphere of influence. He poured Aerion a cup of spiced wine. "The entire city is buzzing about the new forge being built at your estate. But I must admit, I am far more curious about another venture of yours."
Aerion took a sip of the wine, offering a polite, attentive smile. "Oh? And what would that be, Idolaf?"
"The mammoth cheese," Idolaf said eagerly, leaning his elbows on the table. "My father and I have heard the rumors that you have domesticated a herd out on the plains. We would very much like to place a bulk order for our estates. When will the cheese be produced and ready for the market?"
Aerion chuckled softly, setting his goblet down. He played the role of the gracious, busy entrepreneur flawlessly.
"The production is currently in progress, Idolaf," Aerion answered, his tone smooth and accommodating. "However, it requires a significant amount of time to perfect the curing process. I have been rather busy with my arcane researches and my recent travels, which has delayed the initial harvest."
Aerion leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a friendly, inclusive volume that the entire table could hear.
"But you have no need to worry," Aerion assured him. "I will make absolutely certain that the prominent families of Whiterun have the first opportunity to sample the harvest before it ever reaches the general market. And, of course, the prices for our local friends will be set comfortably below the standard market rate. Consider it a sign of our ongoing friendship."
A chorus of hearty, appreciative laughter and genuine thanks rippled down the length of the Battle-Born table. Idolaf raised his goblet in a toast to the High Elf's generosity, the political and economic ties firmly cemented.
They finished their breakfast in good spirits. Once their plates were clear, Aerion and his group excused themselves, offering a final nod to the Jarl before leaving the warmth of Dragonsreach.
They walked back down through the tiered districts of the city, passing through the main gates and arriving at the Whiterun Stables.
They did not have to wait long.
The sound of marching boots and the rattling of heavy wooden cart wheels announced the arrival of the Whiterun guard. One hundred soldiers, clad in their signature yellow and brown set of scaled armors, marched in perfect formation down the cobblestone road.
Behind them rolled a massive, heavy duty supply wagon pulled by two draft horses, loaded with crates of provisions and barrels of water.
Commander Caius rode at the front of the column. He halted the formation as they reached the stables, offering a crisp salute to the Thanes.
"The men are ready to march, Thane Aerion," Caius reported, acknowledging Aerion's new Imperial rank.
"Excellent work, Commander. Let us proceed," Aerion replied, looking at the entire contingent while nodding his head.
The large military procession moved out onto the tundra. The march took a couple of hours, the slow pace dictated by the heavy supply wagon. But as the midday sun climbed high, the towering, jagged stone walls of Fort Greymoor finally came into view.
The fortress looked vastly different in the daylight. The corpses and the blood had been entirely removed, the shattered wooden gates had been cleared away, and standing proudly on the upper battlements were the hardened mercenaries of the Aerion Estate.
As the Whiterun guards approached the fortress, Captain Sinmir stepped out from the main archway, flanked by Uthgerd and several of his heavily armed sellswords. They stood at ease, welcoming the transition of power.
Aerion walk forward, stopping himself between Sinmir and Commander Caius. He reached into his dark robes and retrieved a massive, heavy iron ring holding the ancient, brass keys to the keep's interior doors and armories.
He extended the ring toward the Whiterun commander.
"Fort Greymoor is secure, Commander Caius," Aerion announced, his voice carrying clearly to the hundred guards standing at attention. "The huge bandit group and it's rogue mages has been completely eradicated. The walls are yours to hold in the name of Jarl Balgruuf."
Caius reached out, taking the heavy iron keys with a look of profound respect. He looked up at the pristine, cleared fortress, and then back to the High Elf and the Dragonborn.
Caius turned in his saddle, facing his men.
"Present arms!" Caius bellowed.
One hundred Whiterun guards drew their swords in unison, holding the blades high in the air, the steel gleaming in the midday sun. A massive, unified cheer erupted from the soldiers, echoing across the plains. They cheered for Thane Aerion, they cheered for the Dragonborn, and they cheered for the safety of their city.
Aerion offered a graceful, acknowledging wave of his hand, allowing them their moment of triumph.
"Captain Sinmir," Aerion called out, turning to his mercenary commander. "Gather the company. We are returning home."
Within twenty minutes, the sellswords had packed their gear and handed the guard posts over to the city soldiers. Aerion led his private army away from the stone fortress, marching them back across the golden grass toward the fortified palisades of the Tundra Homestead.
When they arrived back at the homestead, the atmosphere was one of peaceful productivity. The massive Mammoth herd was grazing happily in their reinforced enclosures, tearing up large chunks of tundra grass. The small birds and field mice that made up Aerion's intelligence network offered nothing but quiet, mundane reports of the wind and the soil.
The perimeter was entirely safe.
Aeruon entered into the courtyard befriend then he looked at the returning mercenaries, who were already beginning to unbuckle their heavy steel armor, looking forward to a long rest.
"You fought well yesterday, and you held the walls perfectly today," Aerion addressed the company. "However, before you fully retire to the barracks, I require the assistance of several strong hands. It is time we begin capitalizing on the resources of this estate."
Sinmir paused, holding his breastplate under his arm. "What do you need, Patron?"
"We are going to make cheese," Aerion stated simply.
The mercenaries blinked in surprise, the stark transition from fortress sieges to dairy farming catching them entirely off guard, but they quickly nodded and followed him toward the massive animal enclosures.
Aerion walked up to the heavy wooden fence containing the mammoth herd. He didn't need ropes or whips. He simply engaged the passive aura of his maximized Animal Affinity.
A wave of profound, soothing calm washed over the massive beasts. The towering, shaggy creatures, normally fiercely territorial and highly dangerous, simply blinked their large, intelligent eyes and ambled slowly toward the fence, letting out low, rumbling sounds of contentment.
"Bring the large wooden vats," Aerion instructed the mercenaries.
It was a delicate, monumental task. The female mammoths were guided into specially constructed, wide wooden stalls. The sheer scale of the animals required the mercenaries to stand on sturdy wooden crates just to comfortably reach the udders.
The milking process was slow but incredibly yielding. The milk that flowed into the heavy oak buckets was vastly different from cow or goat milk. It was thick, creamy, and possessed a rich, heavy, earthy scent, packed with the dense fats required to sustain a calf in the freezing northern winters.
It took nearly a dozen mercenaries an hour to fully milk the designated females, resulting in three massive, heavy wooden barrels filled to the brim with the rich liquid.
"Carry them to the outdoor fire pits," Aerion directed.
The barrels were hauled across the courtyard to the cooking area. Aerion had previously procured a massive, wide brimmed iron cauldron, large enough to boil a whole stag.
The mercenaries carefully poured the thick mammoth milk into the cauldron, lighting a steady, controlled wood fire beneath it.
Aerion took charge of the process, drawing directly upon the ancient, guarded recipe he had deciphered from the giant camps.
"The heat must be gradual," Aerion explained to the fascinated sellswords, taking a long wooden paddle and slowly stirring the thick milk to prevent it from scorching against the iron. "Giant's cheese is not crafted like the fragile wheels in the city. The fat content is too high. It requires a specific catalyst to separate the curds properly."
As the milk began to steam, releasing a rich, savory aroma into the courtyard air, Aerion reached into a leather pouch at his belt. He withdrew a handful of crushed, dried tundra cotton seeds, mixed with a highly specific, acidic powder derived from the fermented moss that grew exclusively around giant encampments.
He sprinkled the catalyst into the steaming cauldron, stirring it in with slow, methodical strokes.
Almost immediately, the chemical reaction took hold. The thick, creamy milk began to separate. Heavy, dense, yellowish white curds began to aggressively pull away from the thin, watery whey. The sheer volume of the fat meant the curds were massive, clumping together in thick, heavy blocks.
"It's turning," Sinmir noted, leaning over the cauldron.
"Prepare the straining cloths and the molds," Aerion ordered.
The mercenaries stretched massive sheets of woven linen over empty wooden barrels. Using heavy iron ladles, they scooped the steaming, dense curds out of the cauldron and dumped them onto the cloth, allowing the excess whey to drain away into the dirt.
Once the curds were sufficiently drained, the true physical labor began.
They transferred the heavy, steaming clumps into massive, reinforced wooden molds, thick barrels lined with cloth. The giant's recipe required immense, sustained pressure to force the remaining moisture out and compact the dense fats into a solid wheel that wouldn't rot.
"Press it," Aerion commanded.
Sinmir and Uthgerd, utilizing their considerable Nordic strength, placed heavy wooden lids on top of the molds. They then stacked massive, smooth river stones on top of the lids, utilizing gravity and sheer weight to compress the cheese.
The wooden molds groaned under the pressure, the last few drops of whey weeping from the bottom slats.
"And now, the final step," Aerion said, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Patience."
He looked at the heavy wooden molds. The process of curing Mammoth cheese was not something that could be rushed by magic or steel. It required the cool, dry air of the estate and the slow passage of time for the flavors to mature and the thick rind to form.
"Move the molds into the cellar beneath the barracks," Aerion instructed the men. "Keep them in the dark, away from the damp. In a few weeks, we will open the first wheel. If the process holds true to the giants' methods, we will possess a delicacy that the nobles of Skyrim will pay a small fortune to taste." The mercenaries hauled the heavy, stone pressed molds toward the cellars, the promise of future profits lifting their tired spirits. Aerion watched them go, a satisfied smile on his face.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 650/650 Stamina: 680/680 Magicka: 890/890
Level: 182
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(+4)/Lightning(+2)/Frost(+2)) (Level 0/25/0), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 0/50), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/60), Persuasion(+2) (Level 0), 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 75), 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 / 640 KG
Septims: 81,582