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He did not hoard everything, however. He evaluated the steel weapons quickly, deemed them not particularly interesting or valuable enough to weigh himself down with, and left them behind, telling Lydia and Eisa they could take them if they had a direct use for them. Neither woman wanted the extra weight. Aerion carefully counted the soul gems. It was a highly useful haul for his future enchanting work, two Grand Soul Gems glowing with trapped energy, four Common Soul Gems, and five Lesser Soul Gems, of course all of it was filled. He stored them all meticulously into his inventory, increasing his weight by 0.3 KG.
Then, at the bottom of the chest, he noticed three iron garnet rings.
Aerion picked them up, his magical senses immediately identifying the enchantments woven into the dark red stones. They were rings of Magicka, designed to fortify the wearer's reserves.
Rather than keeping them to sell or disenchant, Aerion turned around and tossed one to J'zargo, one to Onmund, and handed the last one to Brelyna. The three apprentices caught the rings clumsily, looking down at the enchanted jewelry in genuine surprise.
"Put them on," Aerion instructed calmly. "The enchantments will increase your Magicka reserves. You will need them when we resume your practical training. You cast well today, but your endurance needs improvement."
Their reactions were warm but respectfully restrained. Brelyna smiled softly, sliding the ring onto her slender finger. Onmund nodded deeply, muttering a sincere word of thanks, while J'zargo puffed out his chest, immensely pleased by the gift. It was another small, tangible indication that Aerion was actively investing in them for the long term, treating them not just as followers, but as true apprentices.
After sorting through the rest of the chest, the group continued along the only remaining open path in the chamber.
Eventually, they reached a large, heavy stone door that looked almost completely flush with the surrounding walls. A rusted iron lever was positioned on the wall nearby.
Aerion stepped forward and pulled the lever.
Gears groaned loudly within the stone, dust cascading from the ceiling as the heavy door slowly ground open.
Beyond it was the original cavern entrance. The group stepped through the threshold, looking out and seeing the massive, gaping hole in the stone floor through which they had originally jumped to enter Geirmund's Hall.
For a long moment, everyone paused to look down into the black abyss. They saw the drop differently now. They understood exactly how much ancient danger, how many draugr, traps, and horrors had been hidden beneath the surface of the quiet island.
Without another word, they turned and climbed the final ramp, emerging from the cave and stepping out into the fading daylight of the rift.
The open air felt incredible.
The cold, biting wind off the lake hit their faces, smelling of pine needles, fresh water, and mountain snow. It was a stark, beautiful contrast to the stale, suffocating air of the crypt. The apprentices visibly relaxed, closing their eyes and simply enjoying the fresh air after spending so many hours underground. Even Lydia seemed to stand a little taller, the tension leaving her shoulders as she looked out over the water.
Aerion allowed everyone a short moment to stretch, breathe, and recover their bearings before he gave the order to prepare the horses.
They made their way down to the shoreline where they had left their mounts. They mounted up quickly, the leather saddles creaking in the cold air. Because the group had not purchased another horse yet, Eisa once again climbed up behind Brelyna, the two women adjusting their weight comfortably.
The group rode into the shallow water, crossing the river carefully. The horses splashed through the current, making their steady way through the freezing water until their hooves found purchase on the opposite bank.
Once they were safely across, Aerion took the lead, guiding his armored warhorse up onto the main cobblestone road heading west toward Whiterun Hold.
The mood among the group was noticeably lighter. The oppressive weight of the ancient ruin was behind them. They had survived.
The apprentices had gained more real, brutal combat experience, surviving a fight against a legendary draugr lord. Eisa had now fought alongside them long enough, and proved her worth enough, to finally feel like a true part of the group rather than a temporary mercenary.
Aerion rode in silence, listening to the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the stone road. He had acquired another powerful artifact. He had claimed the second fragment of the Gauldur Amulet, feeling its power resting warmly against his chest. He had once again expanded his vast collection of magical knowledge and wealth.
And now, their destination was Tundra Homestead.
Aerion was finally going home.
As the group moved steadily across the beautiful, rugged Skyrim landscape, leaving the golden forests of the Rift behind and heading toward the familiar, sweeping plains of Whiterun, Aerion let his mind wander to everything waiting for him.
He thought of Ysolda, managing his growing mercantile affairs. He thought of the mammoths grazing near the homestead, the massive beasts guarding his land. He thought of the massive stockpile of dragon bones and scales resting in his cellar, waiting to be forged. He thought of Valdemar and his mercenaries keeping the estate secure. He thought of Aeloria, the Dragonborn, whose destiny was deeply intertwined with his own.
He thought of his growing collection of magical artifacts, and the potential arrival of Mjoll the Lioness, wondering if the fierce warrior had decided to accept his offer.
The detailed intelligence report for the Imperial Legion also remained to be written, a political thread he still needed to carefully weave.
His work was far from finished. The game he was playing in this world was only growing more complex. But as the towering peaks of the Throat of the World came into view on the horizon, catching the last light of the sun, Aerion felt a deep sense of satisfaction.
After the long work, the brutal combat, and the exhausting journey, he was heading toward something that felt like home, rather than just another ruin.
The air grew noticeably warmer as they rode west.
The jagged, treacherous cliffs and dense autumnal forests of the Rift slowly gave way to the sweeping, golden plains of the Whiterun tundra. The biting, localized chill of the mountains faded, replaced by the gentle, steady wind that rolled across the open grasslands.
For the first time since they had left for Winterhold, the group visibly relaxed. The three apprentices slumped slightly in their saddles, their shoulders dropping as the suffocating tension of the northern holds evaporated into the massive, open sky. They watched herds of deer bounding through the tall grass, completely ignoring the travelers, a stark contrast to the paranoid silence of the northern forests.
Aerion pulled Krosis's mask away from his face, letting the cool tundra wind wash over his golden skin. He felt a deep, quiet sense of relief settling into his bones. He had spent nearly two weeks navigating political landmines, battling ancient warlords, and unearthing explosive intelligence across half the province.
Finally, he was back on familiar ground.
As they crested a low hill, the sprawling, fortified stone walls of Tundra Homestead came into view, the smoke from its chimneys rising lazily into the late afternoon sky. Beyond the walls, the massive, shaggy shapes of mammoths grazed peacefully near the river.
The moment the column of horses approached the estate's main gates, the heavy wooden doors swung open.
Captain Sinmir stepped out, clad in polished heavy armor, flanked by nearly a dozen rugged, heavily armed mercenaries. The moment Sinmir saw Aerion, he snapped off a crisp, military salute, the mercenaries behind him immediately mirroring the gesture with sharp discipline.
J'zargo, Onmund, Brelyna, and Eisa pulled back on their reins, staring at the disciplined formation in absolute, stunned silence.
Until this very moment, the apprentices had known Aerion as an Expert Mage, a lethal warrior, a Thane of Whiterun, and a relentless instructor. They had absolutely no idea that he also possessed a massive private estate, complete with an entire, highly organized company of armed mercenaries actively garrisoning the grounds.
"Welcome back, Boss," Sinmir greeted warmly, stepping forward to take Revan's reins as Aerion dismounted. "The estate is secure."
"Thank you, Captain," Aerion replied, patting the warhorse's neck before handing the reins over.
Once the rest of the group dismounted and the stable hands rushed forward to secure the horses, Aerion turned back to the stunned newcomers to make formal introductions.
"Captain Sinmir, men," Aerion began smoothly, gesturing to the three young scholars still staring in awe at the massive stone manor. "These are J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna. They are my students from the College of Winterhold."
He then gestured to the mercenary and the Dunmer standing nearby. "And this is Eisa Blackthorn, traveling alongside Jenassa. She is my new personal retainer."
The subtle distinction in his wording was clear, establishing the specific roles of his inner circle while explicitly validating their trusted status to the mercenary captain.
The mercenaries looked over the newcomers with keen curiosity. Three academic mages and a hardened Nord woman with the unmistakable, rough edges of a former bandit were an unusual addition to the High Elf's retinue.
At that moment, Eirik, the young, blond haired Nord mage who served among the mercenaries, stepped forward from the ranks. He offered Aerion a deep, highly respectful nod.
"Patron," Eirik spoke up, his voice earnest. "If you are taking students... I would ask if I might learn under you as well."
Aerion raised a golden eyebrow, intrigued. "You are already employed here as a battlemage, Eirik."
"I am, Patron," Eirik admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But my magical ability is still... well, it's closer to an apprentice level. I can cast a ward and throw a firebolt, but against a real threat, I have to rely entirely on Captain Sinmir and the rest ofy brothers and sisters here. I want to become stronger. I want to actually contribute to the vanguard when we deploy."
Aerion appreciated the initiative immensely.
"Very well, Eirik," Aerion accepted with a firm nod. "Your dedication does you credit. We will begin your magical training later this week."
The decision firmly established that Aerion's role as an instructor was rapidly expanding beyond the formal boundaries of the College.
Aerion then turned back to the apprentices and Eisa, motioning toward the fortified walls and the disciplined men standing around them.
"J'zargo, Onmund, Brelyna, Eisa," Aerion addressed them seriously, lowering his voice slightly. "The men and women standing around you are not simply hired swords I pay to guard a house. This is my private mercenary organization, built from the ground up with Captain Sinmir's help."
The apprentices stared at him, their jaws dropping slightly as the true, terrifying scale of Aerion's resources finally clicked into place. He wasn't just a powerful mage; he was an active warlord building a private army.
"You already know several secrets that are vastly more dangerous than this," Aerion continued smoothly, his golden eyes sweeping over them. "So I am comfortable allowing you into the inner workings of this estate. However, I have one strict condition."
His tone hardened into the unyielding iron of a spymaster.
"You must never, under any circumstances, reveal to anyone that this is my private organization," Aerion commanded. "Publicly, this remains a fully independent mercenary company operating under Captain Sinmir's absolute authority. Are we understood?"
"Yes, Expert Aerion / Boss," they chorused instantly, eager to prove they belonged in this trusted, elite inner circle.
Before the conversation could continue, the heavy wooden doors of the manor house swung open.
Ysolda stepped out onto the porch, flanked closely by Aeloria, Valdemar, Uthgerd the Unbroken, and several other heavily armed mercenaries.
The moment Ysolda's vibrant green eyes locked onto Aerion, her entire demeanor shifted. The sharp, professional mask of the merchant instantly vanished. She practically flew off the porch, her boots thudding against the dirt as she rushed forward and threw her arms around Aerion's neck, hugging him tightly.
The three apprentices and Eisa were visibly stunned, completely freezing in place.
In the two weeks they had traveled with him, they had never seen the terrifying, stoic, heavily armored Altmer warlord greeted with such sudden open physical affection.
Aerion let out a soft, genuine chuckle, wrapping his steel clad arms gently around her waist and returning the hug warmly.
"I have come back safely, Ysolda," Aerion murmured into her hair.
Ysolda held on tightly for a long moment before finally stepping back, her hands resting on his chest plate as she looked up at him with a fierce, scolding glare.
"You were gone for almost two weeks, Aerion!" Ysolda admonished him lightly, though the profound relief in her voice was impossible to hide. "You said you were just gathering numbers in the north. Of course I was worried! Half the couriers coming down from the Pale were talking about bandit massacres and collapsed crypts!"
"Skyrim rarely allows for a quiet stroll, Ysolda," Aerion chuckled softly.
He reached up, unclasped Krosis entirely, and leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. The moment felt incredibly comfortable and deeply intimate, entirely devoid of any theatrical melodrama. It was simply the quiet reunion of two people who had built their relationship with trust and cultivated affection.
Aerion pulled back, noticing the way Ysolda's sharp merchant eyes were already sweeping over the shell-shocked apprentices and Eisa.
"I see you've noticed our new arrivals," Aerion joked smoothly, gesturing to the group. "Perhaps these boys and girls have traveled all this way to ask for your esteemed help with the mammoth cheese business?"
Ysolda's lips instantly curved into her familiar, razor-sharp merchant grin.
"They are more than welcome to haul the buckets," Ysolda teased, looking them up and down with critical, business minded efficiency. "Though, judging by the burn marks on their robes and the blood on their armor, they look far better suited to swinging swords than negotiating bulk cheese prices with the Khajiit caravans."
The remark earned a chorus of deeply embarrassed, awkward shifting from the apprentices, a dry snort of laughter from Eisa, and a rich chuckle from Aerion.
With the emotional greetings concluded, Aerion turned back to the yard. "Return to your posts, the lot of you," he ordered the mercenaries.
The soldiers snapped off quick salutes and dispersed around the massive estate.
Aerion, Ysolda, Sinmir, Jenassa, Lydia, Aeloria, Valdemar, J'zargo, Onmund, Brelyna, and Eisa all piled into the main mansion.
With eleven people standing in the great room, the usually massive, echoing space suddenly felt incredibly crowded.
Aerion pulled his heavy fur cloak from his shoulders, hanging it on a wooden peg near the door, and looked around the packed room with a wry smile.
"It seems the mansion is much smaller when everyone attempts to stand in it at the exact same time," Aerion joked lightly, moving toward the hearth to warm his hands.
The atmosphere in the room immediately relaxed, the tension of the long road finally bleeding away into the warmth of the fire.
Once everyone had settled into chairs or leaned comfortably against the walls, Aerion shifted the conversation toward business. He looked directly at Ysolda and Sinmir.
"Give me the latest update," Aerion requested. "How is the mammoth cheese operation faring?"
Ysolda stepped forward, instantly slipping back into her element, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of profit.
"Production is still highly limited, Aerion," Ysolda began, tapping a ledger she had pulled from a nearby desk. "The milk requires a significant amount of time to properly ferment with the moon sugar and the other alchemical ingredients before it sets into a stable cheese. We cannot rush the curing process."
She smiled, a predatory gleam in her eye. "However, that exact limitation has created an incredible, unexpected advantage."
She opened the ledger, pointing to a column of massive numbers.
"Because our supply is relatively small, and production takes days, I have been aggressively marketing our cheese as an even more highly exclusive, luxury specialty product," Ysolda explained proudly. "The profit margins are staggering. We have already cleared several thousand septims in raw profit, and we are rapidly approaching tens of thousands as the back orders pile up."
The apprentices exchanged wide eyed looks. Tens of thousands of septims from cheese?
"I have even managed to secure export contracts beyond Whiterun," Ysolda continued eagerly. "Merchants from Solitude and Markarth are literally traveling all the way to this homestead specifically to purchase it directly from the source. They love the novelty of it. Wealthy nobles in the capital want to serve mammoth cheese at their banquets to show off. Because the supply remains so artificially limited, I can maintain an exorbitant price point without losing a single buyer."
Sinmir stepped forward, his arms crossed over his heavy steel breastplate, providing the logistical reality.
"The physical operation is stable, Patron," the Captain reported in a low rumble. "We have established secure transport routes down to the city gates, and the cellar storage is heavily guarded. We've also set up a hard perimeter around the pens, we've had to turn away a dozen curious travelers who tried to wander too close to the mammoths."
Then, Ysolda brought up the inevitable bottleneck.
"Aerion, we need more mammoths," Ysolda stated bluntly. "The four females we currently have simply cannot produce enough milk to meet this exploding demand, and the fermentation process inherently throttles how quickly we can get the finished product to the market. If you want this business to truly dominate the province, we need a larger herd."
She tapped the ledger again. "Furthermore, I strongly recommend we hire trusted, civilian workers. Their sole responsibility will be handling the milking, the fermentation vats, the aging racks, the packaging, and the wagon transport."
Aerion nodded slowly, instantly agreeing with her logistical assessment. "You are right. The mercenaries should not be burdened with milking and cheese making. Their primary role is security and military deployment. If my soldiers are seen hauling milk buckets, it ruins the illusion of a hardened mercenary company."
He turned to Sinmir. "Captain. Begin scouting for trustworthy civilian laborers. Screen them thoroughly. I want personal recommendations or guild references only. No drifters."
"Understood, Patron," Sinmir nodded sharply.
Aerion then turned back to Ysolda. "Use your merchant contacts in the city. Begin arranging the next phase of expansion immediately. I want this estate physically expanded. Contract the carpenters to build a proper, detached dormitory for the civilian workers to provide additional beds. And I want the cellar production facilities significantly improved to handle larger fermentation vats."
Ysolda beamed, absolutely thrilled by the prospect of massive expansion, but the pragmatic merchant inside her immediately offered a warning.
"I will secure the contracts tomorrow," Ysolda promised. "But I must remind you, Aerion, this level of expansion will cost a massive amount of coin up front for the timber, the stonework, and the labor, even if the long term cheese profits justify the expense."
Aerion smiled, reaching into his satchel into his system and pulling out a heavy, clinking leather pouch containing three thousand septims, placing it on the table.
"Money is not a concern, Ysolda. Build it," Aerion commanded softly.
With the commercial empire securely moving into its next phase of rapid expansion, Aerion turned his attention to the opposite side of the room, looking at Aeloria and Valdemar.
"And how has your time with the Companions fared?" Aerion asked the Dragonborn.
Valdemar answered first, crossing his arms with a proud grin. "It has gone exceptionally well, Thane Aerion. My Thane has gained the respect of the Circle faster than any whelp in recent memory."
He gestured to the young Imperial woman, who was currently cleaning a spot of dried blood off her steel gauntlet. "She has already cleared out three bandit camps, gutted a nest of trolls near the mountain pass, and handled several animal bounties across the hold. She fights like a demon. The practical combat experience on the road has hardened her considerably."
Aeloria looked up, offering a respectful nod to Aerion. But her expression quickly grew serious as she delivered the more critical, political update.
"The Jarl and his family remain perfectly safe, Aerion," Aeloria reported, her voice steady and confident. "I have shadowed the court. There have been no assassination attempts, no suspicious kidnappings, and also no unusual attacks directed against Dragonsreach or the Jarl's household."
Aerion visibly relaxed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.
"Thank you, Aeloria," Aerion said genuinely, the relief evident in his golden eyes. He offered a slight, formal bow of his head. "And I thank you again, as fellow Thane of this city, for taking the responsibility of protecting the Jarl so seriously."
Aeloria waved the formal thanks away, a small, humble smile touching her lips. "It is my duty, Aerion. You asked me to protect the city while you were gone. I did not consider it a favor."
After the larger group discussion finally concluded, the apprentices and mercenaries scattered to claim beds, find food, or return to their duties.
Aerion and Ysolda stepped away from the crowded, noisy mansion, slipping out the heavy wooden doors and walking side by side along the dirt road winding just outside the walls of Tundra Homestead.
The late afternoon light had finally settled across the Whiterun plains, painting the tall tundra grass in vibrant shades of gold and deep, bruised purple. The wind moved softly through the plains, carrying the distant, ambient sounds of grazing elk and the faint clatter of a merchant wagon on the main road.
"So," Ysolda asked softly, her shoulder brushing against his heavy steel pauldron as they walked. "How was the trip? You were gone for a very long time, Aerion. Almost two weeks."
Aerion looked down at her, the sharp, calculating spymaster finally receding, leaving only the weary traveler.
"It was... extensive," Aerion admitted with a soft sigh.
He didn't reveal the highly classified troop numbers he had gathered for General Tullius, nor did he mention the explosive political instability he had orchestrated, but he told her about the journey. He spoke of the starving, frozen collapse of Winterhold, the suffocating tension of Dawnstar, the ancient, towering walls of Windhelm, and the vibrant, rotting corruption of Riften. He told her about the apprentices, how they had grown from terrified scholars into a capable, lethal vanguard.
He also told her about Frostmere Crypt, and the terrifying duel against the ancient warlord inside Geirmund's Hall, carefully omitting the deepest, darkest secrets of the Gauldur artifacts and the Thu'um.
Ysolda listened closely, her hand slipping naturally into his, her fingers tightening with genuine concern whenever the story drifted into the brutal reality of the crypts.
"Did you really have to go diving into so many ancient ruins?" Ysolda asked, looking up at him with a mixture of exasperation and affection.
Aerion chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "I probably could have stayed in the taverns more often, yes. But Skyrim rarely gives me the luxury of simply walking past a sealed door."
"You just can't help yourself," Ysolda teased lightly, bumping her hip against his. "If there's a dark hole in the ground filled with angry dead people, you always find a reason to walk into it."
"You may have a point," Aerion laughed softly, conceding the argument. Then, Ysolda excitedly filled him in on everything that had happened at the homestead while he was fighting for his life in the dark. She spoke passionately about the cheese negotiations, the arrival of wealthy merchants in fine carriages, the bustling activity around the estate, and how perfectly Sinmir had maintained the military discipline of the company.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 860/860
Stamina: 900/900
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 231
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Eye Of Magnus (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+5)/Lightning(+2)/Frost(+2)) (Level 0/91/70), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 50/98), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/90), Persuasion(+2) (Level 83), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 64), One Handed(+2) (Level 0), Two Handed(+1) (Level 29), Lockpicking (Level 55), Archery(+1) (Level 0), Enchanting(+1) (Level 23), Light Armor(+2) (Level 10), Block (Level 70), Pickpocket (Level 8), & Heavy Armor (Level 59)
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), & IIZ (Ice)
[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, Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, Dwarven Shield, Wuuthrad's Fragments, Staff of Fireball, Mage Boots Of Weight, Master Robes Of Destruction, Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson, & Gauldur Black Bow
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, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), & Greater Soul Gems
4x Spider Eggs, Garnets, & Gold Bars
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
10x Lesser Soul Gems
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 97.71 KG / 750 KG
Septims: 80,867