Kingdom of Aetherius: Forged in Fire

by SmokeyBearHotshot

With the future of Tamriel hanging in the balance, a lone hero emerges who may be able to unite its people once again. He will face not only dragons, but entire armies, assassins, and the pain of his own troubled history. The first book in the Kingdom of Aetherius saga.

3. Part 2

Chapter 15

Grohiik Zeymah

Aleron was the first in line as the three riders entered Ivarstead. The waterwheel at the sawmill spun round with the river's current, and the townsfolk were bustling about, which he thought was odd, considering all that had recently conspired within the province. Ivarstead itself had been known to be a hotbed of Stormcloak activity, or at least it was known that the villagers were willing to offer food and shelter to passing Stormcloak soldiers.
The smell of the sawmill, the freshly split and cut trees, their crisp aroma mixed with the thick oil of the saw's blade rushed into his nose. It was a smell he had always loved. Even though it was not entirely his duty as a Ranger to do so, Aleron had spent many a day over the course of his life aiding Cyrodill and Skyrim's foresters and woodsmen as they carried out their day's work. He was pretty handy with an axe, and wasn't afraid to drive a team of horses or oxen as they would skid their payload down from the mountains and into the river valleys below.
"So what did you decide," Lycaon asked as they pulled their horses to a stop in front of the inn. "Will you begin your climb this afternoon or wait until the morning?"
Aleron hopped down from his saddle and tied his horse to the hitching post. He then turned and looked up and the gigantic mountain which rose up just across the river. "I'm not sure how long it will take to climb it, but then again, every second we stand by is another second these dragons have on us."
"Aye. I'll see to it that Ralof secures us a room and that your horse is looked after. Be sure you have everything you need before you start out. It'd be a shame to have to climb all the way back down because you forgot your pipe now, wouldn't it," Lycaon jested.
Aleron nodded at his friend who followed Ralof inside the inn. He began sifting through his knapsack and saddlebags, making sure he had everything he might need. He'd heard the climb could well be accomplished in a day, but that did not stop him from securing his bedroll to the bottom of his knapsack all the same. There were a few pieces of salted meat and a heel of stale bread inside, and he made sure to fill a water skin before releasing his feet to the path ahead and letting them carry him wherever they may go.

The wind was howling and the pines on either side of the path sounded as if they would snap off their roots like toothpicks. There was a blinding squall of snow whipping against his face, and each flake felt like a shard of stinging glass battering into his eyes and cheeks. He wore no heavy furs, only his thin tunics and breeches underneath an equally thin cloak. Of course, he kept telling himself, it was better than nothing.
The higher he climbed the worse the weather became. His scruffy face began to accumulate with freezing ice crystals, and eventually he felt like his face was entire white, masked in a cowl of snow and frost.
His greatest comfort, he found, was to try and think of Liethlri as opposed to the bone cracking chills coursing throughout him. Even after the dream he had had the previous night, thoughts of her always kept him warm, even though they sometimes also distracted him. Of course in this instance that was another benefit to her purely mental presence. He began to wonder, however, what he would say to her if she actually was there with him.
When the winds finally became too much for him, he found a small cut out in the rocks in which to take shelter. The rocks were large enough to put a decent sized barrier in between him and the wind, and once he had sat for a moment, decided to light a fire. This meant, however, that he had to leave his shelter to find fuel. He emerged nonetheless, and crunched through the snow to a low-hanging pine bough near the edge of the path. He cut the several pieces with his hunting knife, and then returned to the rocks to light his fire.
Once the fire was crackling in front of him it felt marvelous. Granted he did not have enough wood to camp for the night, but this would offer him a temporary stint of relief from the ascent. The air grew thinner the higher he climbed, and he had begun to feel the need to catch his breath more often. Before leaving the bottom someone had told him exactly how many steps there were along the path to High Hrothgar, but he had since forgotten. It was much easier to simply put one foot in front of the other instead of concentrating on keeping count of an irrelevant number.
His fire finally began to die down, and with the last glimmer of flame was finally snuffed out. He pulled his cloak tightly about him, and stood from behind his shelter in the rocks to trudge on. The climb seemed to get no shorter, even though he knew it was. As he skirted the very cliffs and edges of the mountain he began to notice how truly perilous his journey had become. One step in the wrong direction, or allowing himself to be caught unawares by a furious gust of wind, and he would be swept aloft and down to the forests and plains so far below.
Time began to fade away along the winds the higher Aleron climbed. He felt he had to be almost there. With as small as the everything looked in the distance, the things he could actually see, he wagered High Hrothgar had to be near. For one thing he could look up and see that he was running out of mountain to climb. He finally passed through a sort of natural archway along the path which had been formed from the weathered center of a large boulder. The path itself was built right through the center of the large hole in the rock, and he thought to himself what a wonderful place to lie in wait for an ambush that would make. He'd heard many a tale of trolls and all other sorts of disgusting things inhabiting the slopes of the mountain, but luckily he hadn't run into any thus far.

Darkness was well upon him when he finally surmounted the last small rise and gazed out upon the great stone walls of High Hrothgar. Even with the bone cracking cold cutting into his body, he could not help but stand in awe for a few moments before moving forward. Aleron understood such a place was more revered and sacred to Skyrim's native Nords, but being an ever conscious citizen of the land and its people, he too was amazed to finally see such a wonder that had only been legend and song to him mere weeks before.
High Hrothgar looked much like a large castle that could have very well been carved out of the mountain rock itself. Its high walls and central tower took up the entirety of the snowfield upon which it was built, thus allowing no travelers to make their way any further. Golden lights came from the few slit-like windows which dotted the walls in various places, and suggested to Aleron that the inside was much much warmer than where he was; as if he needed torchlight or candles to tell him that. Massive stairs stretched out before him and went all the way up to the large wooden doors. Each set of doors was situated on a respective side of a towering statue of Talos. As Aleron passed the statue he couldn't help but think back to the old tales his father had used to tell.
When he knocked on the doors it felt like ice crystals in his hand were shattering. It was by far the coldest he'd ever been. He kept kicking himself for not thinking to find any heavier clothing before leaving Ivarstead. No answer came at the door for several moments, but just as Aleron was about to knock once more, they were cracked open just enough to that he could squeeze inside. All of a sudden a gust of wind caught him across the back and seemed to push him forward and through the tall doorway. As soon as his boots hit the smooth stone of the floor, the doors were slammed shut to the cold.
The main hall was dimly lit and a thin smoke hung in the air. It smelled of incense and reminded him of that night long ago on Liethlri's balcony. But his mind quickly came back to the present as he realized he had not seen who had opened the door for him, but he began to feel the shiver down his back of not being entirely alone. He spun quickly around and saw an old man in grey robes, his face covered in the shadows of his hood, save for his long beard, moving towards him out of the shadows. Aleron began to slowly back away from the man, but then his eyes shot behind him, only to see three more emerging from the dark corners of the far side of the hall. They all walked toward him the the same slow, somewhat menacing fashion, and his hand found itself resting upon the hilt of his sword.
"You will have no need of that here, Ranger," the first man said in a commanding tone. When he spoke Aleron thought he felt a slight tremor travel across the air, as if his voice had actually shaken the space around them. In any case Aleron removed his hand from his sword and stepped out further into the light, removing his hood and hoping the four men around him would do the same.
"My name is Aleron, son of Arnand. I am the one who killed the dragon at Whiterun, and I am here because I have heard your call," Aleron said, trying to make his voice sound rather commanding as well.
The Grey Beard who had spoken stepped further forward, nearly touching Aleron with the fringes of this heavy, flowing robes. The old man's lips pursed together as if he was confused and trying not to show some sort of disappointment at Aleron's appearance. He eyed the Ranger up and down several times, walking around him and even snorting quietly to himself.
The Grey Beard finally stepped back and put his chin in his hand. "You, Ranger...aren't exactly whom we had expected. I apologize, but we were anticipating you to be somewhat more...er..."
"Nordic," Aleron cut him off. He knew it. He would find no more love atop that mountain that he would in the fields and dales below.
His Grey Beard inspector looked a little embarrassed, but continued nonetheless. "Well, um, yes. You see, all of your predecessors have been of Nordic stock, but not you would seem to be the exception to that rule."
"Rule? I was under the impression that anyone could be Dragonborn," Aleron said.
"Yes, yes, they can. But please, step out of the doorway and allow me to show you to your chamber. I shall then take you into the kitchen where you can dry out by the fire and get something warm in your belly."
Aleron nodded and followed the old man deeper into High Hrothgar and wove around to a private bedroom near the end of a long hallway. It was obviously a spare, not used in years, but clean and neat. The old man went around lighting the lamps and candles that dotted the walls, and Aleron laid his gear out on a table against the far wall. The old man left and stood in the doorway, waiting for Aleron to finish dropping his belongings, yet just before Aleron took off his sword belt, something inside his mind told him to keep it.
If what he had heard about the Grey Beards was true, then they could shout him into a thousand pieces before he even had time to draw his sword on them, but he still figured he would rather be safe than sorry. These four old men made him nervous in a most uncanny way. It was like they knew all about him, yet were not planning in divulging anything until he brought it up.
Aleron followed his guide down another series of long hallways until they found the little alcove that was the kitchen. It was perhaps the coziest of the rooms he had seen so far. There was a table in the center of the room, and many barrels and crates lined the walls around a roaring fireplace. He could smell stew and tea both boiling in their respective kettles hanging over the flames, and their scents coupled with that of the sage and elves ear drying in a rack over the table was most comforting.
"So, Ranger, I suppose it would now be proper to introduce myself," the old man said as he took a seat. Aleron walked over to the fireplace and began to feel the ice crystals within his bones melting away. "My name is Arngeir. I am the leader of the Grey Beards, and I apologize for my remarks when you arrived. I have seen many would-be heroes walk through those doors in my time, but I must say it does my old heart well to finally greet one who has the dragon blood."
"In that case you may call me Aleron. You fellows out there, when I came in, what of them? Will I meet them as well," Aleron asked.
Arngeir waved a hand and shook his head. "No. I shall introduce you to them in the morning, but be aware that they will not speak to you unless it pertains to your studies here. They have taken oaths of silence and will not speak unless it is in the dragon tongue."
"The dragon tongue? Am I expected to learn this language? To speak it fluently," Aleron asked with a bit of apprehension. The speech of the dragons was nearly as ancient as the world itself, and from what he understood was very hard to learn.
"You are. But not in its entirety first off. Everything will be made clear to you in the morning," Arngeir said. He then leaned forward in his chair. "So, Aleron, is there anything else you would like to discuss before I head off to bed. It's quite late, and I cannot stay up as long as I used to."
Aleron thought for a moment. The question that began to gnaw at the back of his mind was one about the prophecy regarding the Covenant. It had been made clear that he was Dragonborn, but was he the Dragonborn referred to in Emeric's dream of old? Instead he decided such questions could be saved until a later time. He was still trying to wrap his brain around the entire Dragonborn idea in general.
With no more questions coming from the Ranger, Arngeir retired to his chambers and left Aleron there by the fire. He found himself thinking of what he would do for a warm pull of mead to help knock off the last remnants of the mountain's chill. Finding nothing but the tea in the kettle over the fire he settled for that instead.

The next morning Aleron found himself standing in the snowy courtyard behind High Hrothgar's main hall. The wind had died down from the night before, for which Aleron was eternally grateful. Arngeir had met him inside moments before and told him to leave his sword behind. That made Aleron very nervous as the four Grey Beards were now walking towards him through the snow in a rather menacing fashion.
"Aleron, step forward," Arngeir said once he and his fellow Grey Beards were each standing in front of him in a sort of half circle. Aleron did as he was told and stepped forward into their midst. "It is time you learned what power you truly possess within you, my son. For to be Dragonborn is to be merely a human embodiment of such a creature. The same blood which flows within them flows within you. You have the potential to be just as fearsome and powerful, but first you must learn to properly harness and bend such power."
"One of my companions told me I absorbed the soul of the dragon I killed in Whiterun? What does that mean exactly," Aleron shivered.
"It means that by killing Mirmulnir, as was his name, you have taken a portion of his power and now possess it inside of you. With this power you are now ready to begin your journey on the path to mastery of the Thu'um, the Voice," Arngeir said. "But be cautious, Dragonborn. For to take a life is one thing, as you know, but for you to take the life of a dragon is to kill a brother. They are now a part of you as you are a part of them."
Aleron wagered that that explained the small sense of sadness he'd felt after slaying Mirmulnir, but there was nothing he could do now. It all made sense to him, however crazy it may sound to others. For Aleron was used to not being truly man nor beast after all.
"Now, you will learn your first Shout. Unrelenting Force, as it is called. Each one of my brothers will teach you a word of the Shout, and once you have learned them, you will demonstrate to us," Arngeir went on. Aleron nodded and braced himself for whatever was to come.
The first Grey Beard stepped forward. He held out his feeble arms and looked down at the stone in front of them. Taking in a deep breath he made the very air around them and the ground beneath their feet rumble. "Fus," he said unto the stone, speaking more with a large exhale as opposed to a yell like Aleron had expected. Upon the stone in front of him, what looked like glowing scratch marks appeared and shimmered with force.
"Step towards the word, and feel its energy take hold," Arngeir instructed. Aleron did as he was told, and was taken aback as soon as he stepped forward. Flames just like those which came from Mirmulnir's dead body spout up and began coursing into Aleron's body. The sensation he felt was strikingly similar, and the euphoria he began to feel was unlike any he had ever before experienced.
The next Grey Beard stepped forward, and finally the third. By the time they were finished, Aleron had three words buzzing around in his head which were supposed to form some sort of phrase he imagined.
Arngeir then directed his Grey Beards to the side and left Aleron where he stood. "Shout, Dragonborn. Use your Thu'um and demonstrate what you have learned. Shout with all your might. Your Voice is still yet to be seasoned."
Aleron wasn't entirely sure how to proceed, but nevertheless he braced himself for what might come. He wasn't sure if it would hurt or burst his eardrums, but he stood as if about to swing his sword. "Fus Ro Dah," he yelled at the top of his lungs. A noise like furious thunder came crashing down the mountainside and a slightly visible wave of pure energy exploded from his mouth. It nearly knocked him on his backside, and left his eyes wide with shock.
"Dovahkiin," the four Grey Beards said at once, each one kneeling down into the snow. Once Aleron regained his composure he was in awe of what he had just been able to do. He had never gone in for magic, but this...this was something different entirely. His Voice was surging throughout him like a force to which no magic could compare.
"Arngeir, what was that? How did I do it," Aleron finally asked, his voice still sounding somewhat shocked.
"You are Dragonborn, my son. It was the power of the very blood within you flowing forth. Now, while this is a joyous moment of revelation for you, we mustn't delay. You have much more to learn if you are to truly achieve your full potential. There are many many Shouts to learn, and we cannot stop with simply one."
Aleron's body suddenly felt drained. For an instant he was excited about learning more about the Thu'um, but in a split second something took hold of his body and dropped him to a knee. He couldn't catch his breath and began to feel weak throughout every part of his body. His vision blurred and eventually began to fade in and out. Arngeir hurried over to him and put a and on his shoulder.
Arngeir put a hand on Aleron's face. "Dragonborn, are you alright? Such feelings may be commonplace for one who had just used his Thu'um for the first time." Aleron looked up to see one of the other Grey Beard motion to Arngeir.
"Grohiik Zeymah," the Grey Beard said. The ground shook around them.

Chapter 16

Throat of the World

Aleron had been at High Hrothgar for weeks. Whatever type of attack he had suffered on his first day had never happened again, but he still felt a slight pain after a day's worth of Shouting and study. One night he had even tried to reach Hircine to seek an answer to the pain, but there was no reply. His mind was silent, even though he could still feel the wolf within him.
In the weeks had had spent with the Grey Beards, however, they had taught him many Shouts, and he now had quite the repertoire which he could tap into. His favorite, of course, was his new found ability to breathe fire like an actual dragon, but there were still many more things which he could do. He could call upon the weather itself to rain down lighting upon his foes, an he could also to things as small as simply lighting the area ahead of him.
What he began to miss, however, was the time he was able to spend with his weapons. Occasionally he would have a small amount of free time to go out in the courtyard and shoot his bow at a small target he had created, but other than that he was confined to learning how to use his Voice as a weapon. This was all well and good, but he still preferred to have cold steel in his hands.
Another item constantly on his mind was Liethlri. He still wondered about where she could be and why she followed him to Whiterun, even after he had told her not to. He could feel it down to his bones that the coming days were to be some of the most dangerous of his life, and could not bear the thought of her getting hurt on his account.
Arngeir had caught him writing to her one night in the kitchen. He snatched the letter away from Aleron and read it aloud. This invasion of privacy embarrassed Aleron greatly. Once Arngeir's reading was finished the old man had tossed the parchment into the fire and stood there so that Aleron had to watch it burn.
"You no longer have need of the comfort of others, Dragonborn. Your Thu'um is the only companion you will ever again need or desire," Arngeir had said. Aleron eyed him coldly and sat at the table in silent sadness for the rest of the evening.
Perhaps it was this sort of pent up anger which motivated Aleron's freezing feet to keep climbing. He had been given the Grey Beards' blessing to climb the remainder of the mountain to meet with their leader, a certain Paarthurnax. Aleron assumed him to be another reclusive old man who would probably groan at the sight of such a comparatively young man coming to meet him.

After hours of climbing, and an encounter with a rather nasty ice wraith, Aleron finally reached the summit of the mountain. Before trudging onward to what looked like on of the Word Walls the Grey Beards had mentioned, he took in the view from atop the highest peak in all of Tamriel. It was beautiful, but again he began to feel a sadness as he was alone and had no one with which to share in such a magnificent moment.
He bit his lip and climbed the last few paces to the Word Wall and began looking around for this Paarthurnax. There was no house, no hut, nor castle atop the Throat, so Aleron was confused as to where exactly the so called leader of the Grey Beards lived.
"You have an ice cave nearby," Aleron asked himself as he inspected a large snowdrift on the opposite side of the worn stone of the Word Wall.
No caves were ever found, so Aleron figured he would just wait for Paarthurnaxx's arrival. He found a clear stone to sit atop and pulled his cloak around him before lighting his pipe. It was nearly the last of his tobacco, but he packed it in regardless. Perhaps the next time the fellow from Ivarstead brought supplied to High Hrothgar he could as him to fetch some pipe weed. As he tried to light the pipe, however, the wind began to pick up and blew out three different matches. Just as he was about to light a forth, though, he felt a change in the wind.
The air suddenly began to turn hot, and a somewhat foul yet familiar stench began to waft into this nostrils. A dragon was coming, but he had no decent way to defend himself. He hopped down off his rock and readied his bow. Pulling back an arrow, he took cover behind the Word Wall and waited for the creature to appear.
Sure enough a dragon did appear in the sky above him. It swooped down in large soaring arcs, but unlike the dragon's Aleron had seen before, this one was silent and breathed no fire. He did not aim at the dragon, yet he did not take his arrow from its taught string either. As the dragon came closer he immediately noticed a difference between this one and Mirmulnir. This dragon was old. Very old. Its scales were a faded silver and there were many bald spots along is belly. Its wings bore several holes and tears within them, and when the dragon finally looked down, directly into Aleron's eyes, he noted a wisdom that only hundreds of years could give.
Aleron returned the arrow to his quiver and stood out in the open patch of snow in front of the Wall. The dragon landed atop the Wall with a thunderous boom and shook several small stones from their ancient resting places.
"Drem Yol Lok, greetings," the dragon said in a deep, low voice. "It does me well to finally meet a new one of my kind, Grohiik Zeymah, Wolf Brother. That is your name, yes?"
Immediately Aleron's thoughts shot back to what the Grey Beards had been calling him. They had never before explained it to him, but things were all too clear now.
"My name is Aleron, son of Arnand, fellow Dovah," Aleron replied cautiously. "And what, if I may be so bold, do they call you?"
"This one is Paarthurnax. I am the grandmaster of those you call Grey Beards. And Aleron may be your name given by the men of Nirn, but to your fellow Dovah you are known as Grohiik Zeymah."
Aleron stepped back in bewilderment. He had seen and heard many a shocking thing in his time at High Hrothgar, but to find out the Grey Beard's grandmaster was a dragon himself was something new entirely. It made sense to him, but he was still unsure if Paarthurnax meant him harm. He was still after all responsible for the death of Mirmulnir.
"Why do you call me Wolf Brother, Lord Paarthurnax," Aleron asked, even though he knew the answer to that question already.
"Answers in time, Dovahkiin. For now we must greet one another in the traditions of our kind."
Aleron was unsure of what Paarthurnax meant, but it was quickly made clear. The dragon got down from the Word Wall and belched a furious conflagration into the stone. Aleron took heed and walked over beside Paarthurnax. He assumed he was to follow suit, so he reared back and shouted in his own Thu'um.
"Yol Toor Shul," he shouted, sending his own fiery breath into the rock.
Paarthurnax grunted in agreement and then climbed back atop the Wall. "You are truly Dovah in my eyes, Grohiik Zeymah. You possess the power of the Thu'um, the Voice."
"Lord Paarthurnax, I come here seeking council in this dark hour. I look to keep the dragons from destroying Nirn and its people."
"I know this, Dovahkiin. You seek to slay one who we call Alduin, World Eater, in the tongues of men. Alduin is my brother. The eldest of the sons of Akatosh. I too have seen his return."
"Then what must I do, my lord? How can I stop him?" Paarthurnax got down from the Wall once again. He walked to the edge of the mountain and looked down.
"His return has long been prophesied, Grohiik Zeymah. As has your coming. It is your destiny to face him in battle, but to do this will require more than your Voice alone. You must destroy Alduin before the peoples of Nirn can destroy themselves. I shall teach you the way, as assist in developing your Thu'um, but I cannot help you kill my own brother."
"Then how will I destroy him? Who else knows the Voice?"
"This also will be made clear to you in time, Grohiik Zeymah. But for now you must perform one final task. A task that will show all the world that you truly are the Dovahkiin, Dragonborn, of legend."
"What must I do then, Lord Paarthurnax?"
"Find the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. One of the first of your kind. It will prove to be a valuable weapon in the battles to come."
With that Paarthurnax flew off into the sky and left Aleron there in the snow. It was a must unsettling conversation. He had never before heard of this horn, nor of Jurgen Windcaller, much less where to find it. It was also a bit unnerving that Paarthurnax had said battles instead of battle. Apparently his task was nowhere near complete.
With those rather unhelpful words and the mountain air once again becoming frigid, Aleron decided the only thing he could do was descend the mountain and begin his search. He passed through High Hrothgar without saying a single word, and continued on, back down the stony path to Ivarstead and the world below.

Chapter 17

Wild Roses

Liethlri kicked at the dust on the floors of the Falkreath hideout. It had been weeks since Aleron had supposedly began his climb to High Hrothgar, and in that time she and the Rangers had returned to Falkreath. She and Bairain had met Aleron's company in Ivarstead the day after he had begun his ascent, but after several days of waiting at the inn had decided it best to return to their one true sanctuary. Imperial patrols were becoming more frequent through Ivarstead, and their presence was arousing some suspicion amongst the townsfolk. She hadn't told the others, but one night as she was tending to her horse she was almost certain she had seen one of her father's men near the edge of the river.
"Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Liethlri," Fredra asked as he emerged from the barracks behind her. "Some tea or something to eat perhaps?"
She smiled at him and shook her head. "Not unless you have news of Aleron or have found somewhere else to stay. I do find myself tiring of spending my days underground like a Dwarf." The Elves and the Dwarves had always had an unspoken rivalry with one another, and she began to wonder if the reason they had all disappeared was because they finally grew tired of living in the dark like burrowing moles.
"Aye, I'm afraid I don't have either one. I am sorry milady." Fredra's expression was one of deep regret. Liethlri knew he and Aleron had been friends for many years, and that in Aleron's absence he felt some sense of responsibility towards her.
"Ah, Fredra," Bairain hailed as he too emerged from some dark corner of the room. "Why not see if you can't cook us up some dinner? I dare day it's nearly dusk, and I for one am famished."
Fredra silently complied and made his way over to the fire to begin cooking. Liethlri sat down at the table in a far corner of the room, illuminated by a single candle. Bairain took notice of the grim expression on her face and sat down across from her.
"Is everything alright," he asked her. "I must say you're looking quite down of late. But no less beautiful, of course."
She gave a slight smile and then went back to staring down at the table. She didn't mind the complements of Lycaon, Bairain, or even Fredra. It was the incessant flirtatious attitudes of Garrik and Mihal that she didn't like. Garrik was almost impossible to deal with at times, especially when he was drinking, which once she thought about it was nearly all hours of the day and night. She knew that he would like nothing more than to catch a glimpse of her as she readied herself for bed, and wondered if he hadn't already seen her during one of the few times she stood there stark naked in the candlelight.
Mihal, on the other hand, was less forthcoming, but nonetheless an annoyance. He was very young, basically still a boy, but that didn't stop him from sending a wandering eye or flirtatious hint her way. Even still, had her heart not already been fixed upon Aleron, she wagered that he wasn't all that bad. What really bothered her was that she knew he knew how she felt about Aleron and still tried to take advantage of her longing for him.
"Yes, Master Bairain, I'm alright. I just find myself longing for a hint of fresh air. That's all." She looked over at the fire, and the shimmering glow caught her face in a way that fully showed the smooth extent of her sheer beauty.
Bairain had to mentally reprimand himself for staring at her for what felt entirely too long. "I am sorry we have kept you penned up down here, but I know not where else would be safe. I myself couldn't bear the thought of any harm coming to you, and I know for certain Aleron would have my head if any did."
Liethlri nodded in agreement, but just the mention of Aleron's name brought tears to her eyes. She was too proud to show it, and instead stole away to a dark room off the side of the barracks. There in the dark she sat upon the dusty floor and wept. A certain feeling of hopelessness washed over her. It had been building inside her for many days now and was finally becoming too much for her to contend with. She cried for a few moments before trying her best to pull herself together. Wiping the tears from her eyes she stood and smoothing out her clothes before returning to the main room.
Garrik was now there by the fire with Fredra, and Bairain sat where she had left him, only now he was engrossed in a book which had been laying beside the candle. As she approached the fireplace Garrik spoke up and the alcohol on his breath sent a chill down her neck.
"Aye, good evening. I was wondering when I was gonna see your pretty face around here again. You look a little down on us. If you'd like a shoulder to cry on, then mine's always available," he said with a thin, crooked smile.
Her emotions got the better of her, and before she knew it she was pinning Garrik against the wall with her dagger across his throat. "If you ever speak to me again I will slice off your balls and feed them to the pigs, you miserable drunk! If you were any sort of real man you would learn to bathe yourself in something besides your drink!"
"Liethlri, that's enough!" Bairain had stood and was pointing an angry finger at her. "Unhand him now!"
She did as she was ordered, and it wasn't until she had stepped back that she realized she had managed to lift the drunken Ranger several inches off the floor.
"You're gonna let this elf whore walk around pulling knives on people, Bairain," Garrik asked his superior.
Bairain walked over to where Garrik stood and got to within inched of his face. He growled lowly in his throat and Liethlri saw a wild twinge in his eye which suggesting it wasn't only Bairain the man to whom Garrik spoke. Bairain took a step back, and Garrik had the lack of sense to puff out his chest like he had just won some boxing match. When he did, Bairain sent a fist square across his face and sent the drunken Ranger to the floor.
"You will never again call this woman a whore, nor speak to her in that manner again. Understood," Bairain said, kneeling beside Garrik who was clutching a bloody, likely broken nose.
"Yes, sir. Understood," Garrik replied like a whipped dog. If there had ever been any question as to his status within the group leading up to that point, there surely wasn't anymore.
Bairain stood and looked out on the rest of the Rangers who had filed into the main room to see what the commotion was all about. "And let that be a lesson to the rest of you. Liethlri here is an equal among us. And for any of you who treat her or any other woman with such disrespect, then you too will face such punishment. As members of this order you are to uphold our honor at all times, not simply whenever you feel inclined to do so. Am I clear?"
The Rangers all nodded, even Fredra who was trying his best to tend to the cooking and stay out of the entire affair. Liethlri, however, was brutally embarrassed once again, this time publicly. She was glad Bairain had stopped her from killing Garrik, which she very well might have, but if anything the entire ordeal went to prove that she was still very much an outsider.
The night dragged on in awkward silence, and Liethlri sat alone at the corner table. She had eaten her dinner quickly, and was doing her best to enjoy the small glass of wine in front of her. Eventually the other Rangers left the main room and scurried off to bed or to play cards in the shadows.
Bairain finally came and sat with Liethlri. She tried to look away in shame, but his gaze was unrelenting. "I'm sorry for the disturbance I caused earlier. It wasn't my place. You and these men have served together for many years and it it not my place to draw a weapon on any of you."
You know there were women within our ranks once," Bairain said after taking a sip of his mead. "Aye, a great many in fact."
"There were? Where are they all now?" She shifted in her seat and sipped her wine.
"Most are dead and gone I'm afraid. It was a horrid affair, truly, when the soldiers started coming for us. After we were outlawed by the Emperor and the Thalmor."
"Did they die in battle then? Fighting the soldiers, I mean."
"Unfortunately for most of them, no. You see there were many who were in love or married to men like us. Aye, but they too were soldiers who could fight just as well as any man. But when we were outlawed the soldiers had orders to find them first. The Thalmor were especially brutal in their hunt for our sisters. The elves, no offense, were convinced that they all carried our children in their wombs and that the quickest way to destroy us all was to kill them first."
"My gods, what did they do to them," Liethlri asked without thinking. Immediately she regretted the question as Bairain's face twisted into sorrow. "I...I am sorry. It was a foolish question which I had no business asking."
Bairain waved his hand. "No. It needed to be asked. No matter how awful a tale it is, it is one that needs to be told. People need to know what an atrocious scourge the Thalmor really are upon this land."
Liethlri hesitated for a moment. "So what did they do to them, my lord?"
"It was a hunt of the most dreadful sort. They burned homes and slaughtered them in their sleep. Many times the bastards would have their way with them before cutting open their bellies to make sure their was no Ranger spawn within them. Then they would behead them on the spot to make sure the deed was done. Some they would cut open and just leave to die, and others they would hang or burn at the stake in front of entire villages."
"That's absolutely dreadful. I am so sorry."
"Aye, but that's not all. No, as if simply killing them wasn't enough they began to turn the common folk against us and slander their names, calling our sisters witches and accusing them of being whores to werewolves and all other beings that could be considered abominations upon the land."
Liethlri was nearly in disbelief. She had known that the Rangers absolutely hated the Thalmor, but until now she had no idea just how deep and burning an hate it was. Before she had just figured it was because of the part they played in making them out to be bandits and outlaws.
"Was any of that true? Did any of your sisters carry your children? Was that even a real reason to have them all killed," she asked. They were already too far into the conversation now.
"Yes. There were several sisters who knowingly and lovingly carried our children within them. But many a line was ended in those few short days," Bairain replied. His eyes became glassy as he stared down into his cup. Liethlri knew at once that she had in face delved too deeply.
"Master Bairain, I am so sorry. I didn't know." He kept looking down into his empty cup of mead as if he was wishing it would begin to overflow. "What was her name?" All was silent for several moments.
"Kiareen," Bairain sighed. "And she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in all my years. It was a little improper by outside standards for a Nord and a Redguard to be together, but by the laws of the wild it was perfect."
Liethlri would ask no more. Bairain sat there for what seemed like hours before finally getting up to leave. He didn't speak another word. He simply walked into the shadows and left her there in the waning candlelight.

All was quiet and the fire had died down when Liethlri crept through the dark of the hideout. Her elven footsteps were as quiet as a ghost's, but she still tip-toed nonetheless at the risk of waking the light-sleeping men.
The tavern upstairs had closed down for the night, and even its large firepit was now no more than smoldering embers. She snuck around the tables and stacked chairs and out the door, into the muddy street.
It must have rained only hours before, because the sweet smells still hung in the air. She always liked the smell of rain. Even that late in the year it still made the few remaining flowers and the tall pines waft their perfume into the night air. When she stepped off of the front porch of the inn and out into the moonlight it was like a great sigh of relief sweeping over her body. The air inside had been so thick and heavy, and being outside once more was truly a breath of fresh air.
She made her way through the streets and turned left towards the graveyard on the outskirts of town. Her first instinct had been to leave Falkreath for good and return home. Geldiir would be furious with her, but he would not stay that way forever. The thoughts of her soft chambers and the comfort her people enjoyed were intoxicating in and of themselves, but she still could not bring herself to leave Aleron to whatever fate he might find.
Instead she made for the only place she could think of which would allow her to be close to a part of him. The grave of his father was all she had of him. When she first arrived in Falkreath she remembered running her fingers over his name in the stone. At this point it was apparently all she would be able to have.
The tall grass swayed against her legs as she approached the short iron fence surrounding the gravestone. Before opening the squeaking gate she took notice of the wild roses that grew along their vines, and wondered why it was that they hadn't yet begun to wilt like the other flowers around them. They were beautiful, and she had always thought so. Water droplets from the recent rain had collected and sat upon the petals, glowing with moonlight and shimmering like small diamonds. Even the vines and thorns were pretty. They were such a full and deep green, and wound round in such a way as to nearly form a frame around the weathered granite.
Inside the fence was a rock that appeared to be relatively dry, so she brushed it off and sat down, having to adjust her quiver and bow to allow her to sit comfortably. As she sat she eyed Aleron's name, though never reaching out to touch it. It was well within reach, but she just couldn't bring herself to extend her fingers across the weather-worn stone.
When finally she could control her urge no more she reached out for him, for Aleron, and began to cry like she had earlier that evening. It would be dawn soon, but she couldn't bear the thoughts of morning. She curled up near the base of the stone and wept like she never had before. For the first time since he had left she started to wonder if Aleron would ever come back to her. She wondered if it was a mistake for ever leaving her father, and even went so far as to feel sorrow for Faldil.
"Aleron," she sobbed. "Aleron please come back to me. I know you cannot, but I simply want to see your face one last time. Even if you are to never again return, once more would be enough to last my entire life."
There was a rustling behind her, but she paid it no mind. If anything it was Bairain coming to fetch her back to the hideout. She lay there on the ground crying and hating herself for ever letting him leave. The rustling came again.
"Why does it have to be for the last time," a shockingly familiar voice asked from behind her. Her body tensed all at once with fear and disbelief. She spun around in the grass as her hazel eyes locked into Aleron's of steel grey.
The sorrow left her body immediately and he rushed passed the gate and dropped to a knee to embrace her. His strong arms wrapped around her as she nestled into his chest, sobbing now even more furiously from joy.
"Why are you here," she wept, looking up into his eyes. He smiled back at her with a quizzical face.
"I've missed you too. But isn't that a rather obvious question," he said, never releasing his embrace. She would have sold her soul to make his embrace last forever. It was odd. He was finally with her again after what seemed years apart.
"I wondered if you would come back, and you have. Please tell me that was the last time you'll ever leave?" She paused. "Actually don't. I don't want to know the answer to that," she laughed through her tears. It was a false laugh, but they both shared in it, for something about her question was good for both of them. They each knew they would more than likely be separated again in the future, but neither one want to think about that now.
"I've got something for you," Aleron said, brushing the hair from her eyes. "I had to climb all the way to the very top of the Throat of the World to get it too."
Liethlri sat up and looked at him curiously. She couldn't imagine what he could have found fer her up there, but her questions were answered in an instant. Putting his hand on her cheek he pulled her into a deep kiss. Their lips connected in a soft explosion of of longing for the feel of the other. It was marvelous and ended all too soon for the both of them. That, however, was remedied by several more passionate kisses from both of them to the other. Feeling their hands and lips finally together again was absolutely euphoric, and for Aleron Liethlri's kiss topped that of the Thu'um.
"It would seem you had to go an awful long way to find such a gift. It's a shame you couldn't have found one of those sooner," she smiled. Aleron had sat down on the rock and she was now leaning back into his chest.
"I suppose I had it all along, I just had to find the right time to give it to you," he replied. "But I'm afraid I have to be a little cross with you, milady."
She looked up at him. "Call me by my name, Aleron, or do not speak to me at all." He smiled and then began again.
"Fine. I'm afraid that I'm somewhat irritated with you, Liethlri." Her eyes closed with delight as he said her name, but then they opened as she looked back up.
"Why? What have I done wrong?"
"I told you not to follow me, and you did. Don't think I didn't see you at Whiterun. You're pretty unmistakable, you know."
She stood and stepped through the gate. Her arms were folded as she looked up at the moon and then back to him. "Well in that case, Aleron, I'm angry with you as well. Charging a a dragon head on like you did? What were you thinking?"
For a moment the look in her eyes was nearly equal to that of Mirmulnir's, and he thought for a brief second that he saw a slight tint of red glimmer within them. He too stood and stepped out into the grass, closing the gate behind them. Before he did, however, he went back to the gravestone and picked one of the roses. He held it in his hand for a moment before approaching Liethlri and brushing a strand of her hair back behind her ear. In its place he stuck the rose, with the droplets of water still diamonds in the moonlight.
"I was thinking, who on earth is that beautiful she-elf atop that hill, if you must know," he replied with a grin.
Liethlri smiled and touched the rose in her hair before giving him a wink and spinning around in the moonlight like a beautiful dancer. She then grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek.
"You spoil me, my lord." Her smile was intoxicating and Aleron could hardly believe this moment was really happening.
"I wouldn't go so far as to say that. But follow me. I would rather not spend our first night together in some time in a graveyard, if you don't mind," he said.
She took his hand and the two of them made their way out of the graveyard to where he had hidden his horse. He climbed into the saddle first, and then pulled her up in front of him. Giving the horse a soft kick to the flanks they trotted off into the waning night.

When morning broke Liethlri found herself waking upon a soft bed in a cabin in the middle of the forest. Considering she had not planned to spend the night anywhere, all she wore was her green hunting shirt which barely reached down to her thighs. At first she tried to think back on the wonderful night of passion she and Aleron had shared, but when her eyes were no longer blurry and after a few gigantic yawns, she remembered that was not the case. Even still it was the most wonderful night she had had in years, sharing a bed with Aleron and feeling safe for the first time in nearly a month.
She turned to step out of bed, but when her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor she pulled them back under the covers like a turtle retreating into its shell. It was then that she realized Aleron was not inside the cabin. A fire was going, and some food appeared to be laid out on the table beside the fireplace, but there was no Ranger to go along with them.
The pale light of morning was already raining through the windows, and as she looked outside from her bed she finally saw him pass by. She thought he would open the door and come back inside so that they may have breakfast before returning the Falkreath, but that, also, was not the case.
Outside she heard Aleron step down off the wooden porch and heard the creaking and sliding of leather, along with the snorting and nickering of his horse. She immediately threw on her breeches and jumped out of bed still without her shoes. Flinging open the door she and Aleron came face to face, his looking like he had been caught stealing, and hers twisted in anger. She could feel her eyes becoming red, and judging by the look coming across Aleron's face, she bet he could too.
"Where do you think you're going," Liethlri asked crossly.
Aleron sighed as he tightened the last strap on the saddle. "I must go north, near Solitude. I've to run a small errand for the Grey Beards it would seem."
"And you were simply going to leave me here? I called you cruel when you left me in Elvenwood; showing up only to go hours later. But by the gods, Aleron Emeric, if you leave me again like this then I truly mean that." By the feel of her eyes she could tell she would regret saying that if his departure turned out to be true, but she wasn't planning to back down. Aleron, on the other hand, picked up his quiver and knapsack and tossed them both across his back as if he hadn't heard a word she had just said.
When he finally looked at her all he could bring himself to say was, "Keep a watchful eye. I promised you once that I would return, and thus far I've kept good on it."
"You can't do this! Please, don't do this!" She sat down on the porch and let her feet fall into the crunched leaves below. She put her face in her hands as if she would begin to cry, but she wasn't sure if she felt more anger or sadness.
Aleron walked over to her and knelt down. "Liethlri, I have to do this. By now you know we have all set out to stop the dragons, so that is what I must do."
"WE have set out to stop the dragons," she replied, loud enough to rouse a family of birds in a tree overhead. "Not just YOU alone! Why do you feel as if you must do everything on your own, Aleron? You have many loyal friends back in Falkreath that would help you in this quest, that want to help you in this quest, but you have left them all in the dark ever since you climbed that mountain!"
He stood and backed away, becoming slightly angry himself. "You don't understand, Liethlri! I did not know all that I do now before I went to High Hrothgar! I'm only just learning so much!"
"Well then teach some of us! Teach us how to help you and we will; any of us! If you keep trying to save the world on your own then you will surely fail, and I will not spend the rest of my life in sorrow because you went and got yourself killed over some fool's errand!" Her chest was heaving up and down, and her eyes burned like hot coals.
Aleron was good and angry by this point, and his wilder, brutish half was beginning to move to the forefront of his mind. He was afraid he would say something he would regret, and finally he did.
"I do not want you living your life in sorrow, but that simply cannot change what has to be done! Events are unfolding that are so much bigger than you and I, and this is the way things must be. If you cannot bear the thoughts of losing me, then I would suggest you return to your home; the home where you promised you would stay to begin with. You said it yourself, Liethlri, we hardly know one another anyway."
She was absolutely shocked. Never in her life would she imagine that Aleron could say such things to her, but apparently she had been wrong. She sat back down on the porch and began to cry as she had the night before. Her heart was well and truly broken.
As she cried, she half expected Aleron to kneel down once again to offer his hand in comfort. Even after what he had said, she still hoped that he would. However, her hopes were once again shattered when all she heard was a rustling of leave, but looked up to find Aleron gone.
He had left his horse for her, and she was fairly confident she could find her way back to Falkreath. But then again, why return to Falkreath? No. Instead she made up her mind to finally return to Elvenwood. Her father's anger would be fierce, but at least there she could find comfort in the thoughts that she was with those who truly loved her and would never again leave.