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He moved smoothly into the center of the light, the heavy tread of his armored boots silencing the murmurs. "I appreciate the sequential strategy proposed by the Legates," Aerion began, his voice calm, resonant, and dripping with an unyielding intellectual superiority. "It is a textbook application of Imperial doctrine. It is safe, it is methodical, and it makes perfect logistical sense." He paused, looking directly at Legate Rikke and the older officers. "And unfortunately, it is too slow if I have to say."
The older Legate bristled, offended by the blunt dismissal from a newly minted Captain, but General Tullius held up a hand, silencing him. "Speak your mind, Captain Aerion."
"If we march the entire army to Kastav, we give the Stormcloaks in Dawnstar some time to prepare," Aerion explained, his golden eyes sweeping over the map, visualizing the snowy terrain. "We give them time to reinforce Fort Dunstad and the city. We give them time to lay traps in the mountain passes. Letting Dawnstar feel the pressure of an impending siege will not make them surrender. It will only make them dig in. A cornered wolf does not roll over, Legates. It fights to the death."
Aerion picked up a spare wooden marker and slapped it down onto Fort Dunstad, directly west of Fort Kastav.
"If we follow your strategy, we will take the forts, yes," Aerion conceded. "But it will be a grinding, bloody, time consuming slog that will cost us hundreds of even thousands of men to attrition and frostbite before we even see the walls of the cities."
"Then what is your alternative, Captain?" Legate Rikke asked, her eyes narrowing as she studied the map.
"We split the army," Aerion says, his voice filled with absolute, terrifying conviction. "We do not give Ulfric a single moment to breathe. We hit both forts simultaneously."
The room erupted into sudden, heated whispers. Splitting an army in hostile and cold territory was traditionally considered tactical suicide.
"Legate Rikke," Aerion continued, pointing to Fort Dunstad. "You take the main Imperial host. March thirty thousand men straight up the central road into the Pale. Fort Dunstad is a traditional, heavy stone fortress. It requires the massive siege engineering and the overwhelming numbers you possess to crack it open."
He then moved his finger across the map, tracing the treacherous eastern pass toward Winterhold.
"While you march on Dunstad, I will lead my regiment of one thousand men up the eastern pass," Aerion declared, locking eyes with the General. "I will bring my mercenary company. I will bring my retainers. And I will bring my armored mammoths. I will take Fort Kastav."
General Tullius stared at the Altmer, his weathered face completely unreadable.
The silence in the war room was profound. Taking a heavily fortified military installation with a mere thousand men was a staggeringly arrogant proposition.
"Captain," General Tullius finally spoke, his gravelly voice tight with skepticism. "Fort Kastav is not Fort Greymoor. It is not occupied by a rabble of unarmored bandits. It is manned by a massive garrison of hardened Stormcloak veterans. They have many archers stationed across the walls, and the approach is a steep, freezing nightmare. I know you possess extraordinary magical capabilities, but are you truly asking to assault a fully manned fortress with only a fraction of our forces?"
"I am not asking, General. I am offering you a simultaneous victory," Aerion replied smoothly, his golden eyes burning with unshakeable confidence.
Aerion leaned over the table, pressing his advantage. "Furthermore, my personal intelligence network has confirmed that Fort Kastav is currently being used as a high security prison camp. They are holding hundreds of captured Imperial legionnaires in their dungeons, men who were taken during the skirmishes in Eastmarch."
General Tullius's eyes widened slightly. The recovery of Imperial POWs was a massive political and military objective.
"I will not just take the fort, General," Aerion promised, his voice dropping into a deadly, echoing whisper. "I will shatter their gates, I will slaughter their garrison, and I will free those legionnaires. By the time I am finished, my regiment will have grown from the men I liberate. You will take the Pale, I will take Winterhold, and we will sever the entire northern rebellion in a matter of weeks rather than months."
Aerion stood up straight, folding his arms across his massive chest. "I am sure a tactician of your caliber was already considering a simultaneous strike, General. I am simply providing you with the exact weapon you need to execute it."
General Tullius stared at the map. He looked at the marker on Fort Dunstad, then at the marker on Fort Kastav. He calculated the speed, the shock value, and the sheer, undeniable reality of what Aerion had proven capable of the day prior. A man who could shoot catapult boulders out of the sky and summon an army of Daedra did not need thirty thousand men to take a fort.
General Tullius looked up, a fierce, predatory grin breaking through his stoic facade.
"You are a remarkably arrogant man, Captain Aerion," Tullius noted, though the tone was laced with profound respect. "But you have a habit of backing it up with devastating results."
The General slammed both of his hands down on the map, finalizing the decree.
"The strategy is set!" General Tullius ordered, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Legate Rikke, begin organizing the main host for a march on Fort Dunstad. Quartermasters, secure cold weather gear and rations for a mountain push. We march in five days."
General Tullius turned to Aerion. "Captain. Begin preparation your regiment and your beasts. When your regimen are fully filled in term of men and Fort Kastav is yours."
"It will be done, General," Aerion saluted crisply.
With the war council concluded and the fate of the northern holds sealed in blood and ink, Aerion turned on his heel. He gestured for Praefect Valerius, his Tribunes, Aeloria, and his retainers to follow.
They marched out of the strategic map room, where Aerion's mind was already racing, calculating the exact application of Frost magic and heavy armored mammoths required to break a mountain fortress.
The heavy, iron reinforced doors of Dragonsreach closed behind them with a resounding thud, shutting out the immediate political machinations of the Jarl's court. The morning air in the Cloud District was biting and cold, carrying the faint, lingering scent of woodsmoke and wet stone.
Below them, the city of Whiterun was fully immersed in the grueling, unglamorous task of post siege recovery. Work crews were already hauling splintered barricades away, while merchants cautiously unboarded their windows.
Aerion walked with a slow, measured pace down the sweeping stone stairs, the heavy plates of his Nordic Carved Armor clanking rhythmically. Aeloria walked at his shoulder, her customized steel armor gleaming in the pale morning light, while Valdemar, Lydia, Jenassa, and Eisa formed a loose but disciplined perimeter around them.
"The Jarl was generous today," Aeloria noted quietly, looking out over the tiled roofs of the Wind District. "A property. A loan commission being erased. We walked out of that hall with vastly more influence than we entered it with."
"Influence that is entirely necessary for what comes next," Aerion replied smoothly, his golden eyes scanning the lower districts. "The Stormcloak siege was a blunt instrument. The battles ahead will require more precision."
Aeloria offered a slow nod of agreement. She adjusted the heavy leather strap of her armor, her expression turning slightly more serious.
"Speaking of the battles ahead," Aeloria began, glancing over at him. "I will not be remaining in the city for the next few days to celebrate. When I spoke with Kodlak and the Circle this morning, they assigned me a new task. Valdemar and I, along with a select couple of Shield-Brothers and Sisters, are departing shortly for a location called Driftshade Refuge. It sits in the frozen ridges southeast of Dawnstar."
Aerion's brow furrowed slightly behind his mask. He knew exactly what Driftshade Refuge was.
"You are going after the fragments of Wuuthrad," Aerion deduced, his voice low.
Aeloria blinked in mild surprise, though she quickly recovered, she was already used to the Altmer's seemingly boundless knowledge of Nordic history and current events. "Yes. The legendary battleaxe of Ysgramor. Like you know, the fragments were scattered long ago, but the Circle has tracked several more of the pieces in that specific ruin. We are to secure them and bring them back to the Skyforge."
Aerion stopped on the landing just above the Gildergreen tree, turning to face the Dragonborn directly. His golden eyes were deadly serious.
"Be incredibly careful on this expedition, Aeloria," Aerion warned, his voice dropping into a resonant, authoritative register. "I have heard the whispers on the roads regarding Driftshade Refuge. It is not occupied by standard bandits or stray warlords. It is the primary stronghold of a faction known as the Silver Hand."
"Aye, Aela and Vilkas said the exact same thing," Aeloria noted, her own eyes narrowing in focus. "They called them a mercenary band, but they spoke of them with a hatred I have rarely seen from the Companions. They practically spit the name."
"They are not just mercenaries, Aeloria," Aerion corrected her firmly, leveraging his metaknowledge of the game's lore to ensure her survival. "They are fanatics. They are very organized and armed zealots who hunt specific targets with blinding prejudice. They wield silver weapons exclusively, and they do not take prisoners. Treat them as a highly disciplined military threat, not a rabble of highwaymen."
Aeloria absorbed the tactical warning, her hand resting instinctively on the hilt of her longsword. "I understand. Valdemar and I will not underestimate them."
As they resumed their walk, descending the stone steps into the bustling Plains District, Aerion looked toward the massive, upturned hull of Jorrvaskr resting on its raised plateau. His mind raced through the timeline of the Companions' questline. If Aeloria and the Circle members were hitting Driftshade Refuge to retrieve the fragments, it meant the Silver Hand would inevitably retaliate sooner or later. In the original timeline, they assaulted Jorrvaskr directly, murdering Kodlak Whitemane in his own hall.
Aerion could not allow the Harbinger to die. Kodlak's steady, honorable leadership kept the Companions neutral and stable. If the old man fell, the grief stricken Circle might lash out unpredictably, destabilizing the city just as Aerion needed it absolutely secure for the Imperial war effort.
"Aeloria," Aerion spoke up again, stopping near the edge of the market square. "I have one more piece of advice. Before you leave, I need you to deliver a message directly to Kodlak and the Circle members remaining behind."
Aeloria turned to him, sensing the sudden, grim weight in his tone. "What is it?"
"Tell them to place Jorrvaskr on a high alert the moment you ride out," Aerion instructed, his voice low enough that the passing merchants could not overhear. "Tell them to bar the heavy doors, double the night watches, and strictly prohibit any strangers from entering the mead hall or the living quarters beneath it."
The entire group was taken aback. Valdemar frowned deeply, his thick brow knitting together. "Thane Aerion... Jorrvaskr is a fortress in the middle of the capital. Nobody would dare attack the Companions in their own home."
"Are you entirely sure about this, Aerion?" Aeloria asked, searching his golden eyes for the source of his paranoia. "If the Companions suddenly lock their doors and stand on the walls with drawn steel, it will look incredibly poor to the citizens of Whiterun. It will spark panic that the Stormcloaks are returning, or that the city is unsafe."
"I am not a seer, Aeloria, so I cannot say for absolute certain," Aerion lied flawlessly, wrapping his warning in the guise of vigilant military logic. "But I understand the psychology of zealots. You are taking a strike team to attack their primary headquarters. If you corner a rabid wolf, it does not just defend its den, the pack lashes out at the hunter's home. It is vastly better to be cautious."
He leaned in slightly, his tone lowering into a dangerous whisper. "The Silver Hand are not like Kematu's Redguards. The Alik'r tried to sneak through the gates one by one and failed. The Silver Hand are arrogant enough, and fanatical enough, to attempt a direct, brutal infiltration in the dead of night. Do not leave the Harbinger unprotected."
Aeloria stared at him for a long, heavy moment. She had learned over the past few weeks that Aerion's strategic instincts were virtually infallible. He had predicted the siege, he had broken the enemy lines, and he had saved the city. If he believed Jorrvaskr was in danger, she would not second-guess him.
"I will deliver the warning to Kodlak personally," Aeloria decided, her voice firm. "I will tell him it is a tactical precaution based on your intelligence network. He respects you, he will listen."
"Good," Aerion nodded, a wave of internal relief washing over him. The timeline was shifting, and the board was becoming more secure.
"We leave within the hour," Aeloria said, offering a deep, respectful nod. "May the Divines watch over your preparations, Captain."
"And may Kyne guide your blade, Dragonborn," Aerion returned the farewell.
Aeloria and Valdemar broke away from the group, jogging up the stone steps toward the courtyard of Jorrvaskr, their armor glinting in the sun. Aerion watched them go for a moment before turning his attention to the bustling, crowded market of the Plains District.
He gestured for Lydia, Jenassa, and Eisa to follow, leading them directly toward the heavy wooden doors of the Bannered Mare, while the Praefect and the two Tribunes head to the tent.
The interior of the tavern was slightly less chaotic than the night before, but it was still packed with off duty guardsmen and weary citizens nursing flagons of water and eating hot stew to combat their hangovers. The air was warm, smelling of roasted garlic and spilled mead.
Ysolda was standing near the massive stone hearth, consulting a leather bound ledger with Hulda. The moment she heard the heavy, synchronized tread of armored boots, she looked up. A bright, genuine smile immediately chased the exhaustion from her features. She handed the ledger to Hulda and walked swiftly across the tavern floor.
Aerion removed his mask as she approached, catching her hands in his.
"I am heading back to the Tundra estate, Ysolda," Aerion informed her, keeping his voice pitched for her ears alone. "The Jarl has formally deeded the land expansion to us, and the debts are cleared. I need to oversee the immediate restructuring the estate."
Ysolda's green eyes widened in sheer delight at the financial news. "Cleared? The entire treasury loan?"
"Every last septim," Aerion confirmed with a dark, satisfied smirk. "The cheese monopoly is now operating at pure profit. But beyond the estate, I must wait there for my new Imperial regiment to be fully reinforced. General Tullius is dispatching fresh legionnaires and officers from Solitude to bring my unit up to a full thousand men. Once they arrive, I will be locked into heavy military preparations for the upcoming campaign against Fort Kastav."
"A thousand men," Ysolda breathed, shaking her head in a mixture of awe and lingering worry. She squeezed his hands tightly. "Congratulations, Aerion. Truly. But please, promise me you will be careful in the northern mountains. The cold alone claims as many men as the blades do."
"I will be well insulated," Aerion assured her gently. "However, before the Legion fully assembles, I may be departing on a short adventuring trip. A small excursion to collect a few... specific items I require before the Dawnstar campaign begins. I will be back at the estate a full day before the army marches."
"I will hold you to that," Ysolda said, stepping closer. "Before you march for Fort Kastav, I will come out to the estate. We need to go over the new property lines anyway."
"I look forward to it," Aerion murmured.
As they spoke, a blur of bright red fur darted out from beneath a nearby wooden table. Lupin, having spent the entire morning lazing near the hearth and gorging himself on leftover sweetrolls, trotted over and sat proudly at Aerion's boots, letting out a sharp, demanding yip.
Ysolda laughed, leaning down to scratch the intelligent fox firmly behind his large, black tipped ears. Lupin leaned into the touch, his eyes half closing in pure contentment, though he kept one eye fixed on his master, waiting for his orders.
"Come along, Lupin," Aerion commanded softly. "We are going home."
Lupin let out a happy, trilling bark, his bushy tail swishing enthusiastically as he trotted toward the front doors.
Aerion leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to Ysolda's lips, ignoring the catcalls and cheers from the patrons sitting at the nearby tables. He pulled back, offering her a final, warm smile before pulling the bronze mask of Krosis back over his face.
He stepped out of the Bannered Mare, his retainers falling into perfect formation behind him, and walked swiftly toward the main gates of Whiterun.
The walk down the paved drawbridge and out onto the open plains was vastly different from the day before. The massive, sprawling Imperial encampment was functioning with absolute, terrifying efficiency. The wounded had been moved to medical tents, the dead had been respectfully wrapped in linen, and the quartermasters were already inventorying the massive stockpiles of looted Stormcloak supplies.
Aerion walked directly to the fortified command tent situated near the outer barricades.
Inside, the Praefect Valerius was leaning over a small wooden table, rapidly writing deployment orders, flanked by Tribunes Hrogar and Livia. When Aerion entered, the three officers immediately snapped to attention, saluting their Captain.
"At ease," Aerion commanded, stepping up to the table. "I am returning to my private estate to oversee its expansion. I am leaving you in direct command of the camp, Praefect Valerius."
"Understood, Captain," Valerius replied, his posture rigid with pride. "What are your standing orders?"
"Keep the men fit, but ensure they are resting," Aerion instructed, his tactical mind shifting toward the brutal climate of the upcoming campaign. "They fought a grueling battle yesterday, and their muscles need time to recover. But more importantly, I want you to begin collecting and auditing supplies for the Fort Kastav campaign. I want heavy winter furs, climbing pitons, snowshoes, and refined lamp oil. The mountain passes south of Winterhold are unforgiving. If a legionnaire freezes to death before we reach the walls, I will hold you personally responsible."
"The quartermasters will have the winter gear secured by tomorrow evening, Captain," Valerius promised without hesitation.
"Good. If any urgent military matters require my immediate attention, or if the reinforcements from Solitude arrive early, dispatch a fast rider to Tundra Homestead. You will find me there."
"Yes, Captain!" the three officers chorused, slamming their fists against their breastplates.
Aerion left the command tent, his heavy cloak snapping in the wind, and walked toward the massive timber pens anchoring the far flank of the camp.
Sinmir was leaning against the wooden fence, idly sharpening his battleaxe, while the three College apprentices and Eirik were practicing basic warding spells in the dirt nearby. The mercenaries of Tundra Homestead were fully packed, their heavy rucksacks secured, ready to move.
"Sinmir," Aerion called out. "Form the company. We are heading home."
"Right away, Boss!" Sinmir grinned, whistling sharply to gather the sellswords.
Aerion bypassed the mercenaries and walked directly up to the heavy timber gates of the mammoth pens. The eleven armored beasts were resting, chewing massive mouthfuls of hay, their custom forged steel plates gleaming in the midday sun.
Aerion reached out, placing his hand on the thick trunk of the alpha male, projecting his authority through his Animal Affinity.
"We return to the estate," Aerion says to the alpha, feeling the immense, primal intelligence of the beast acknowledge the command. "Gather the dragon bones and scales from the field. Bundle them securely into one, and carry them back with us. They belong to the forge now."
The alpha let out a long, resonant bugle, shaking its massive head. The herd immediately mobilized, moving with surprising dexterity to collect the heavy bundles of ivory bone and iron colored scales that had been dragged from the craters.
With the beasts loaded and the mercenaries formed up, Aerion and his retainers retrieved their warhorses from the temporary Imperial stables. Aerion swung smoothly into Revan's heavy leather saddle, taking the reins.
He spurred the massive black stallion forward, leading the bizarre, terrifying procession, a company of hardened mercenaries, four battlemages, three elite retainers, and eleven armored mammoths carrying the skeletal remains of dragons, across the golden, windswept plains of the tundra.
As they crested the final, rolling hill, the sprawling expanse of Tundra Homestead came into view.
However, the peaceful, domestic sight of the massive cheese-producing estate was violently interrupted by the immediate, lethal tension radiating from the perimeter.
Standing in the dirt road, directly outside the volatile boundary of Aerion's magical rune network, was Kematu. The towering Redguard commander was flanked by eight of his elite Alik'r warriors.
The moment they saw Aerion's massive, heavily armed procession cresting the hill, the armored mammoths, the mercenaries, and the towering High Elf leading them, the Alik'r immediately snapped into a rigid defensive combat formation. Curved steel scimitars hissed as they were drawn from their scabbards. Kematu stood at the front, his twin blades catching the sunlight, his face a mask of furious, cornered paranoia.
Aerion pulled sharply on Revan's reins, halting his entire column fifty yards away.
"Hold the line," Aerion commanded Sinmir over his shoulder. "Do not draw your weapons unless I give the order."
Aerion spurred Revan into a slow, deliberate trot, riding forward with only Jenassa, Lydia, and Eisa flanking him on foot.
As they closed the distance, Kematu raised one of his scimitars, pointing the curved tip directly at Aerion's chest.
"Hold there, Elf!" Kematu shouted, his heavily accented voice laced with warning and adrenaline. "I see your men! I see your beasts! If you have decided to betray our agreement and slaughter us on the road, know that we will not die easily! We will make your mercenaries bleed for every inch of dirt!"
Aerion brought Revan to a complete stop a mere ten yards from the bristling Alik'r line. He didn't reach for his greatsword. He calmly reached up and pulled the mask of Krosis away from his face, projecting an aura of unshakeable calm.
"Lower your weapons, Kematu," Aerion instructed smoothly, his voice completely devoid of hostility. "I have not gone back on my word. I do not betray my business partners. You have come to my estate exactly as we agreed two days ago. I assume you are here to collect the remainder of the compensation I promised you."
Kematu did not lower his swords, though his eyes darted nervously toward the towering, armored mammoths waiting on the hill.
"We tried to approach the gates this morning," Kematu growled, his pride warring with his survival instinct. "But the very earth around your estate is cursed. The grass is laced with glowing magical traps that nearly incinerated my vanguard. And we saw the smoke. We felt the earth shake. We know the Stormcloaks besieged the city."
"The siege is precisely why the runes were active," Aerion explained patiently, adopting the tone of a host apologizing for a minor inconvenience. "I apologize for the delay and the hostile reception. I had to fortify my property against rebel flanking maneuvers. The traps were meant for Ulfric's soldiers, not for you."
Aerion held Kematu's fierce gaze. "You kept your end of the bargain. You halted your hunt, and you waited. I intend to keep mine."
Kematu stared at the towering Altmer for a long, agonizing moment. He weighed the sincerity in Aerion's golden eyes against the overwhelming, suicidal odds of fighting the private army behind him. Slowly, reluctantly, Kematu lowered his scimitars, signaling with a sharp jerk of his chin for his men to sheathe their blades. "Wait here for just a moment," Aerion instructed.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 930/930
Stamina: 970/970
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 245
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), Summon Dragon (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+6)/Lightning(+4)/Frost(+3)) (Level 0/0/0), Restoration (Healing(+3)/Purify(+2)) (Level 0/98), Alteration (Level 43), Illusion (Level 62), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+2)) (Level 37/0), Persuasion(+3) (Level 28), Smithing(+1) (Level 79), 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(+1) (Level 0)
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, the Golden Claw, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Deed to Tundra Homestead, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Potion of Healing, Mage Boots Of Weight, Master Robes Of Destruction, Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson, Gauldur Black Bow, & Dwarven Battleaxe
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Potions of Plentiful Magicka
3x Potions of Minor Stamina, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), Potions of Minor Magicka, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), & Greater Soul Gems
5x Mod Chests
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: 49.21 KG / 785 KG
Septims: 252,867