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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Is this any way to greet your lovely courtier, honey?" Aerion asked. Even muffled by the mask, the smooth, affectionate cadence of his voice was unmistakable. The tension in the room instantly evaporated. The patrons, realizing the fearsome warrior was simply the eccentric, wealthy High Elf they all knew by reputation, returned to their meals with a collective sigh of relief and renewed, loud chatter.
Ysolda froze for a second, her bright eyes going wide. She quickly set the plates of fries down on the nearest table, completely ignoring the confused customer, and walked rapidly toward the front of the tavern.
When she was close enough to look past the intimidating steel plates and see the familiar posture, she broke into a wide, brilliant smile, a soft, relieved laugh escaping her lips. She didn't hesitate. She threw her arms around him, hugging the cold, hard steel of his cuirass.
Aerion gently wrapped his arms around her, mindful of the heavy metal, returning the embrace warmly.
"Aerion," Ysolda laughed, stepping back and looking him up and down with absolute bewilderment. "Why in the name of the Eight are you dressed like this? I barely recognized you! You look like you're about to march on a fortress!"
Aerion smiled behind the mask, the warmth evident in the soft, reassuring tone of his voice.
"I have simply decided to change my combat style, my dear," Aerion explained smoothly, keeping his voice low enough to maintain their privacy amidst the tavern noise. "The robes were elegant, but my new assignments require a more direct approach. Rest assured, I am perfectly fine, and I can handle melee combat just as effectively as the arcane arts. It is merely a practical adjustment."
Ysolda looked at the massive ebony greatsword strapped to his back, her concern slowly fading into a practical, merchant's appreciation for high quality gear.
"Well, it is certainly a statement," Ysolda admitted, shaking her head in amusement. "You gave Hulda a fright, I can tell you that."
"I shall apologize to her later," Aerion chuckled. He glanced around the packed room, noting the empty plates and the satisfied expressions of the patrons. "Business appears to be thriving. The recipes are holding up well?"
"Better than well," Ysolda beamed, gesturing to the crowded tables. "We can barely keep up with the orders. The city guards have practically made this their official mess hall."
"Excellent," Aerion nodded. He then shifted his focus to the logistical matter he had come to address. "And what of the structural work? Is the basement beneath the kitchen finished yet?"
Ysolda's smile turned proud. "It is. The stonemasons packed up their tools this morning. It's entirely dug out and lined with fresh stone."
"Show me," Aerion requested.
Ysolda nodded, motioning for him to follow. Aerion told Lydia, Jenassa, and Aeloria to grab a table and enjoy a meal on his coin while he handled his business.
He followed Ysolda through the swinging wooden doors of the kitchen. The heat from the large cooking fires was intense, the cooks moving frantically to assemble the burgers and pizzas. Ysolda led him to a heavy, newly installed oak door at the back of the pantry.
She pulled it open, revealing a set of steep, descending stone stairs.
They walked down into the dark. The air grew noticeably cooler as they descended below the foundation of the tavern. Ysolda grabbed a torch from the wall, illuminating the new space.
Aerion was pleased. The basement was expansive, large enough to store months' worth of supplies. The stonemasons had done excellent work, the floor, the walls, and the low, arched ceiling were all constructed of tightly fitted, heavy gray stone, mortared flawlessly to prevent moisture from seeping in from the surrounding earth. There were no wooden support beams that could rot over time. It was a perfect, practical storage vault.
"It is exactly as I requested," Aerion murmured, his metallic voice echoing softly off the stone walls.
"It's a wonderful space," Ysolda agreed, her breath barely visible in the cool, underground air. "But it is still just a cellar, Aerion. It's cool, but it isn't cold enough to keep raw meat fresh for long. You said you could change that?"
"I did," Aerion confirmed. "Step back toward the stairs, Ysolda."
She complied, moving back up the first few steps, watching him with intense curiosity.
Aerion walked to the absolute center of the stone room. He didn't draw a weapon, and he didn't need to perform any complex rituals. He simply raised both of his steel clad hands and tapped deep into his Destruction Frost skill.
He didn't unleash a violent, explosive blast. He required precision, control, and sustained ambient saturation.
Frostbite.
A continuous, swirling stream of pure, biting, localized winter erupted from his palms. The sheer, freezing intensity of the magic hit the stone floor and immediately began to spread outward like a living, creeping web.
Aerion turned slowly in a circle, painting the room with the magic. The temperature in the basement plummeted violently.
The residual moisture in the air instantly crystallized, falling to the floor as fine, sparkling snow. The gray stone walls began to crackle and pop, a thick, permanent layer of brilliant white frost rapidly coating the masonry. The heat was entirely, aggressively pulled from the environment.
Aerion cast the spell over and over again, overlapping the freezing magic, driving the chill deep into the very core of the stones until the masonry itself became a battery of absolute cold.
Within two minutes, the cellar was transformed. It was no longer a simple storage room, it was a sub zero, deep freeze vault.
Aerion lowered his hands, his breath pluming in thick, heavy white clouds that billowed out through the slits of his bronze mask. He looked around the room. The frost was thick, permanent, and biting.
He turned back to Ysolda. She was hugging her arms tightly across her chest, shivering violently in her simple dress, her teeth chattering as the freezing air rolled up the staircase. But despite the cold, her eyes were wide with sheer, unadulterated mercantile awe.
"It is finished," Aerion announced calmly, stepping back toward the warmth of the stairs. "The stone has absorbed the frost magic. The ambient temperature down here will remain below freezing indefinitely, provided I return every few weeks to reinforce the chill."
He reached out, gently guiding the shivering merchant back up the stairs and into the comforting heat of the kitchen.
Ysolda closed the heavy oak door behind them, instantly cutting off the freezing draft. She rubbed her arms vigorously, a massive, triumphant smile breaking across her face.
"Aerion," Ysolda breathed, looking at the door as if it were made of solid gold. "You have no idea what you just did. A true cold room in the middle of Whiterun... we can store whole sides of beef, fresh vegetables, and imported cheeses for months without losing a single copper to rot. It's perfect."
"It is a practical application of magic for a highly practical business," Aerion smiled, resting a heavy, steel clad hand gently on her shoulder. "Stock the storage, Ysolda. The tavern is ready for the future."
The freezing, biting chill of the newly forged cellar was a stark contrast to the sudden, overwhelming warmth of Ysolda's reaction after hearing Aerion's words.
She threw her arms around Aerion's heavily armored neck, laughing in pure mercantile delight. She didn't care about the thick, freezing steel of his Nordic Carved cuirass pressing against her simple dress. Her mind was already racing miles ahead, calculating the sheer, staggering profit margins this single room represented.
"Aerion, do you have any idea how extremely useful this is going to be in the long run?" Ysolda beamed, stepping back and gesturing wildly at the frost covered stone walls. "Being able to keep food cold like this... we can preserve cuts of meat, rare fish, and delicate ingredients for months! We won't lose a single septim to spoilage. And in the height of the summer heat? Imagine serving ice cold drinks to the merchants and the guards. It will attract even more customers than the new food already has!"
Aerion let out a low, warm chuckle, thoroughly amused by how quickly her mind transitioned from awe to a highly detailed business ledger. It was one of the traits he admired most about her.
"I have no doubt you will monopolize the summer market, my dear," Aerion agreed smoothly. He reached up, pulling the bronze mask of Krosis from his face to look at her with his own golden eyes, the metallic resonance fading from his voice. "Come. Let us get out of the cold before you freeze solid."
He placed a hand gently on the small of her back, guiding her up the stone steps and back into the sweltering, chaotic heat of the kitchen. They bypassed the busy cooks and quietly made their way up the wooden stairs to Ysolda's private quarters, closing the heavy door to muffle the roaring din of the common room below.
The room was comfortable and warmly lit, a quiet sanctuary above the busiest tavern in the hold. Aerion set the ancient mask down on a small table and turned to face her. The playful amusement faded from his eyes, replaced by a quiet, grounded seriousness.
"I will be gone for a while, Ysolda," Aerion told her gently, keeping his voice low. "The Imperial Legion has given me a new sensitive assignment."
Ysolda frowned, pouring them both a small cup of spiced wine to chase away the chill of the basement. "You just finished taking a fortress for them. What more could they want so soon?"
"Intelligence," Aerion answered, accepting the cup. "I will be traveling extensively. The General has ordered me to scout Winterhold, Dawnstar, Riften, and Windhelm."
Ysolda froze, her cup stopping halfway to her lips. The color drained slightly from her face as the geographical reality of those names set in.
"Windhelm?" Ysolda repeated, her voice tight with immediate, sharp concern. "Aerion, why in Kyne's name would the Legion send you into the deepest heart of Stormcloak territory? I know you are powerful, but you are a High Elf! If you walk into the City of Kings asking questions, you won't just face suspicion. You will face open, violent hostility. The guards there look for any excuse to throw an elf in the dungeons, or worse."
Aerion reached out, taking her free hand in his. He understood her fear perfectly, it was the exact same logistical warning General Tullius had given him.
"Winterhold is of no concern, as I have already established a foothold there with the College," Aerion reassured her, his thumb gently tracing the back of her knuckles. "And while Dawnstar, Riften, and Windhelm present significantly steeper challenges, you must not worry. The Legion chose me specifically because my appearance will not immediately flag me as an Imperial agent. I am an outsider, yes, but I am an outsider who can handle himself."
He offered her a soft, confident smile, his eyes holding absolute certainty. "I have breached ancient tombs and stood against dragons, Ysolda. I can navigate a few angry Nords in a tavern. I will not take unnecessary risks."
Ysolda searched his eyes for a long moment. She saw the unyielding, quiet power there, the same power that had effortlessly frozen solid stone just minutes prior. She let out a heavy, resigned sigh, knowing full well she could not change his mind or steer him away from the path he had chosen.
"I know you can," Ysolda murmured, stepping closer and resting her head against the cold steel of his chest plate. "Just... stay safe, Aerion. Don't let your confidence make you careless in the east. Return to me soundly."
"I always return," Aerion promised softly.
He tilted her chin up, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss to her lips. It was a grounded, intimate moment of quiet affection, entirely divorced from the blood and politics waiting outside the door.
When they finally pulled away, Aerion reached for the bronze mask, securing it once more over his face. The aristocratic scholar vanished, replaced once again by the terrifying, faceless warlord.
They walked back downstairs. Lydia, Jenassa, and Aeloria were waiting near the main entrance, having finished their meals. As Aerion approached to gather his group, the heavy front doors of the Bannered Mare swung open to admit a group of off duty guards.
Before the door could close, a small, cinnamon colored blur darted through the gap, weaving frantically between the heavy boots of the patrons.
Yip! Yip! Yip!
Aerion paused as Lupin, the fox, skidded to a halt directly at his steel clad boots. The small animal looked up at the towering, terrifying figure in Nordic Carved armor, entirely unfazed by the disguise. The fox let out a series of sharp, loud, incredibly scolding yips, its bushy tail flicking in sheer agitation.
Aerion couldn't help it. A deep, metallic chuckle vibrated through the mask. Through the passive connection of his maximized Animal Affinity, he perfectly understood the creature's indignant frustration at being left behind at the estate while his master rode off to the city.
"My apologies, little friend," Aerion said, crouching down slightly despite the heavy armor. He extended a steel clad finger, gently scratching the fox behind the ears. "Our departure was hasty, and I required your eyes on the plains."
Lupin let out a softer, grumbling whine, leaning into the touch.
"However, you cannot come with me on this next journey," Aerion explained, speaking to the fox as one would a trusted lieutenant. "I am heading east on highly sensitive business. It is too cold, and far too dangerous for you to follow."
He pointed a finger toward Ysolda, who was watching the exchange with a bemused smile.
"I have a new task for you, Lupin," Aerion commanded gently, pushing a wave of alpha level authority and purpose into the animal's mind. "You are to stay here in Whiterun. You will protect Ysolda, and you will manage the network of small animals and insects I have left in the city. Watch the shadows for me until I return."
Lupin perked up, its sharp ears swiveling. The fox let out two sharp, crisp yips, a clear acknowledgment of the order and a promise to remain vigilant. With a final, affectionate nudge against Aerion's boot, the fox turned and trotted proudly over to Ysolda, sitting at her feet like a tiny, furry sentinel.
"Keep an eye on him for me," Aerion told Ysolda with a final nod.
With his domestic and intelligence affairs settled, Aerion gestured to his retainers. They stepped out of the Bannered Mare and back into the crisp afternoon air of the Plains District.
"We are not leaving the city just yet," Aerion announced, turning his gaze upward, toward the ancient, inverted hull of the massive ship that served as the heart of Whiterun's warrior culture. "Our next destination is Jorrvaskr."
The walk up to the Wind District was brief. As they approached the legendary mead hall, the sounds of clashing steel and hearty laughter drifted from the back courtyard.
Aerion reached out and pushed the heavy, iron banded double doors open.
The atmosphere inside Jorrvaskr was thick, busy, and vibrantly alive. The air smelled of roasting meat, aged mead, and woodsmoke. Dozens of Companions, seasoned veterans and eager whelps alike, were moving about the long hall, swapping stories of recent bounties, sharpening blades, and drinking heavily from wooden tankards.
But the absolute moment the heavy doors swung shut, the chaotic noise began to rapidly die down.
It started near the entrance and rippled down the length of the hall like a wave. Conversations abruptly halted. Tankards were lowered. Dozens of hardened warrior eyes snapped toward the doorway.
Standing there was a towering figure clad in brutal, master crafted Nordic Carved steel. A massive ebony greatsword and a dark metal bow were strapped to his back. But it was the face that drew their wary, unsettled stares, a jagged, grinning bronze mask that looked like it had been ripped from the nightmares of the Merethic Era.
And standing right beside this terrifying phantom of the old wars was a familiar face: Aeloria, the blonde warrior who was rapidly becoming the most famous woman in the province.
At the far end of the hall, seated around the massive, central fire pit at the main table, was the Circle.
Vilkas and Farkas, the towering twin brothers, paused mid drink. Aela the Huntress narrowed her feral, green eyes. Skjor leaned forward, his scarred face unreadable. And sitting at the head of the table, his long white hair and full white beard catching the firelight, was Kodlak Whitemane, the revered Harbinger of the Companions.
Kodlak studied the newcomers with a calm, weathered wisdom. He recognized Aeloria immediately, word of the Dragonborn had naturally reached Jorrvaskr weeks ago.
The old Harbinger slowly stood up from his heavy wooden chair, a warm, welcoming smile touching his lined face.
"Well now," Kodlak's deep, gravelly voice echoed clearly in the silent hall. "I confess, I had not expected the Dragonborn herself to come gracing the halls of Jorrvaskr today."
The utterance of the title broke the spell. The realization that the legendary hero of the Western Watchtower was standing in their mead hall swept through the rank and file Companions. The heavy silence instantly shattered, replaced by a sudden, deafening eruption of cheers, applause, and the enthusiastic slamming of tankards against wooden tables.
Aeloria, entirely unused to such overwhelming, unified praise from a room full of seasoned killers, felt a hot flush of embarrassment color her cheeks. She let out a slightly awkward laugh, raising a hand in a polite, humble greeting.
"Thank you," Aeloria called out over the din, bowing her head slightly. "Thank you all for the warm welcome."
As the cheers died down to a respectful murmur, Vilkas stood up from the Circle's table. The dark haired warrior crossed his arms, his sharp, critical eyes locked entirely on the imposing, masked giant standing at her side.
"We know who the Dragonborn is," Vilkas called out, his tone challenging and suspicious. "But who is the warlord hiding behind the dead man's face? State your business, stranger."
Aerion did not take offense. He stepped forward, the heavy steel of his boots thudding against the floorboards. He reached up, his leather gloved hands gripping the edges of the bronze mask.
With a smooth motion, he pulled Krosis from his face, revealing the flawless, aristocratic features and the striking golden eyes of the High Elf beneath.
A collective gasp swept through the Circle.
Vilkas actually took a step backward, his jaw dropping slightly. Farkas blinked in profound confusion, while Aela's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. Only Kodlak and Skjor managed to maintain their composure, though even the old Harbinger raised a white eyebrow in genuine surprise.
They all knew Aerion. They had met him when he first arrived in Whiterun as a wealthy, elegantly dressed mage who wielded magic with terrifying precision. To see the aristocratic High Elf scholar suddenly clad in the brutal, heavy steel of ancient Nords, carrying a fortune in ebony weaponry on his back, was a jarring, almost incomprehensible shift in paradigm.
"Thane Aerion," Aerion greeted them, his melodic voice smooth and entirely natural, contrasting sharply with his brutal attire. He offered a respectful nod to the table. "It is good to see you all again."
"By Ysgramor's beard..." Farkas muttered, shaking his head. "I thought you were a wizard, Aerion. You look like you're ready to besiege Windhelm by yourself."
Kodlak let out a low, rumbling chuckle, recovering from his surprise. He stepped around the table, approaching the High Elf with a look of deep, assessing respect.
"It is a surprise to see you looking so... martial, Thane Aerion," Kodlak admitted gently. "Though I suppose the roads of Skyrim have a way of hardening a man. What brings the two Thanes of Whiterun to our humble hall today?"
Aerion smiled, bowing his head respectfully to the Harbinger.
"I have come primarily to accompany my friend," Aerion explained, gesturing gracefully toward Aeloria. "The Dragonborn has expressed a deep desire to join the ranks of the Companions. Since I am already acquainted with Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela, I thought it only proper to stop by, offer my greetings, and make the introduction."
The hall erupted into a second, even louder wave of cheers. The prospect of the Dragonborn fighting alongside the Companions was a massive point of pride for the mercenaries. They banged their weapons against their shields, the noise echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
Kodlak held up a hand, and the room instantly quieted. He looked at Aeloria, his wise eyes piercing straight through her fame and assessing the warrior's spirit beneath.
"The Dragonborn is more than welcome to try," Kodlak said, his voice carrying the heavy weight of centuries of tradition. "But fame does not buy a place at our table. Here, a warrior is judged by their heart and their arm, nothing more. You must prove yourself first, girl."
Aeloria met his gaze without flinching, her posture straightening. "I would expect nothing less, Harbinger."
Kodlak nodded, satisfied with her resolve. He then turned his gaze back to the High Elf in heavy steel.
"And what of you, Aerion?" Kodlak asked thoughtfully. "Given this sudden, formidable shift from a scholar of magic to a warrior of heavy steel... would you like to pledge your arm to the Companions as well?"
A hushed anticipation fell over the room. Having both Thanes join would be unprecedented.
Aerion, however, offered a polite, deeply respectful shake of his head.
"I am honored by the offer, Harbinger, truly," Aerion declined smoothly. "But my path lies elsewhere, and my time is heavily committed to a personal matter I have and my own estates. I am here today strictly on behalf of the Dragonborn, not for myself."
Kodlak accepted the answer without a hint of offense. He understood the burdens of a man with too many jobs to do.
"Very well," Kodlak nodded. He turned back to his Circle. "Vilkas. Farkas. Take the girl out to the back courtyard. Test her strength, one at a time. Let us see if the blood of dragons translates to the swing of a blade."
The twin brothers grinned fiercely, pushing away from the table. "With pleasure, old man," Farkas chuckled, rolling his massive shoulders. The entire hall practically emptied as the Companions eagerly poured out the back doors, forming a wide, enthusiastic half circle around the packed dirt sparring ring in the courtyard.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 760/760 Stamina: 740/740 Magicka: 950/950
Level: 200
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 73/91/70), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 50/75), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/90), Persuasion(+2) (Level 19), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 33), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting(+1) (Level 2), Light Armor(+2) (Level 0), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii Gron (Fade Spirit Bind), Su (Air), Laas (Life), Yol Toor (Fire Inferno), Kaan (Kyne), & Zul Mey Gut (Voice Fool Far)
[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, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Gold Emerald Circlet, Scroll of Fire Storm, Iron Garnet Circlet, Iron Sapphire Circlet, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, Dwarven Shield, Wuuthrad's Fragments, Staff of Fireball, Mage Boots Of Weight, & Master Robes Of Destruction
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: 92.41 KG / 670 KG
Septims: 81,082