My first TES story was Night Eye. After I finished it, I promised I'd eventually write a sequel. Here it is at last - Dragonheart. It isn't a direct continuation of Night Eye - it's a totally different plot, just set in the same world. I'll also be editing NE slightly while I work on this one. Although reading Night Eye might make some of the backstory to Dragonheart a little clearer, I'm pretty certain that this story can be read and understood without reading NE.

This series is slightly alternate universe. The most important differences are that mortals of mixed race, while still rare, are much more common than in the actual games, and can be born to parents of any races. Dragons have females and offspring (although with a twist that will be explained later in the story.) Most of the other differences will be explained in this prologue.

I hope you enjoy!

DRAGONHEART

PROLOGUE

A half-hour's walk away from the ancient city of Whiterun, standing alone and proud in the middle of the unforgiving tundra, seldom seen except by giants, mammoths, and those who travel there deliberately in order to see it, there stands a statue.

It is built from pale grey stone, and carved with loving care. There are a few scratches and gouges in it, from where passing sabre cats have sharpened their claws, but otherwise it is flawless. The people who crafted it were hired because they were the best, and they were well-paid for their work. When asked, even now, twenty years after they completed it, they all claim that it was the greatest accomplishment of their lives.

Once, many hundreds of years ago, a tower stood where this statue now stands – the western watchtower of Whiterun. That tower has long since been destroyed, and all that remains of it are the large boulders strewn around the area where it used to be, boulders that were once bricks and parts of walls, but have been worn away by the wind and rain and hail. In fact, the statue is mounted upon one such boulder, although of course the makers of the statue chiselled away the rough edges.

Around the statue, there are flowers. Some grow there naturally, since the statue provides them a place to grow away from the fierce winds of the plain. But most were planted there in tribute. Mountain flowers, dragon's tongue, frost mirriam, tundra cotton, nightshade, deathbell – if it's a native plant of Skyrim and beautiful in any way, it can be found at the base of the statue. Sometimes alchemists visit and carefully cut away a few of the best specimens for use in their potions, but they never take too much. They feel that it would be a dishonour to do so.

Some people leave gifts there, too. Offerings. Sometimes a hunter, returning home triumphantly with a large catch, might stop beside the statue and place a rabbit or a sliver of meat on the grey stone base. It's surprising what can be found there. Pieces of jewellery, food, trinkets that appear worthless but probably meant a lot to whoever left them there. The people in whose honour the statue was built would prefer that they didn't do it, and they've made it known, but the people of Skyrim leave the gifts there all the same. They aren't so much offerings as thank-you presents. No matter what is given, no matter who it is given by, the message is the same. Thank you. Thank you so much for giving everything you have to keep us safe.

After they realised that nothing they said would stop people from leaving the gifts, the people the gifts are left for sent out a new message. 'Put things beside the statue if you wish to,' they said, 'and anyone who likes can take them. People who need more food or clothes can take whatever they want from the statue. If you want to thank us, then that is how you can do it. By caring for others.'

It's not uncommon to see a hunched figure in ragged clothes approaching the statue, just one of the many citizens of Skyrim who can't support themselves or their families. Sometimes they will have walked days, clinging to the slim hope that there will be something, anything, beside those stone figures. And often, there is something, something that might just save lives.

Crying from gratitude, that citizen will pick up whatever it is they've found, clutch it close to them, and look up at the statue. They will gaze upon it for a long time, and four faces will stare back.

Gazing towards the south, towards the distant land from whence she came, is a Khajiit woman. Her stone eyes are intent and focused, her carved face thoughtful, looking out across the plains with an almost wistful expression. In her right hand she holds a bow, a sleek and elegantly curved weapon, and its tip is resting on the statue's stone base. A quiver of delicately sculpted arrows is slung over her shoulder, and she is clad in armour made from the scales of dragons. Her right ear has a tiny v-shaped notch cut into it, and the thin line of a scar slices through her left eyebrow.

Standing at her shoulder, his gaze turned to the eastern sky, is an Argonian man. He is tall and powerfully built, dressed in armour similar to hers, standing with a sword clasped in one hand and a bow in the other. His neatly carved horns curl around the sides of his head, and there is a small smile on his face. The Khajiit woman's slender tail is twined around his thick, rudderlike one. An observer with a keen eye might notice that the two wear identical rings upon their fingers.

Facing the west is another male Argonian. His face is more youthful than that of his kinsman and his expression, though determined, is somewhat nervous. Unlike his stone companions, he wears no armour. Instead, he is dressed in the robes of a mage, and they almost appear to be billowing in the wind. His right hand holds a destruction staff, and his left hand is outstretched, as if he is heartbeats away from sending a spell burning through the air. A line of feathers stretches down the back of his neck, and his horns point backwards with only a slight curve to them.

The final figure stands with her eyes gazing out over the mountains and wilderness to the north. She is a Khajiit too, and almost identical to the other. They are of similar heights and builds, they wear the same armour, they carry the same weapon. Even the patterns of stripes on their faces are not all that different. This Khajiit, however, is not resting on her bow, but standing with it loaded and ready to fire. Her face is young and not marred by any scars. She is grinning, a wide, confident smile, and her eyes, though they are stone, have an undeniable brightness to them.

And on the pedestal upon which they stand, there are words.

On the side that faces south, along with the first of the two Khajiit, a name is written. In fact, it is written twice – once in the jagged grooves and scratches of the dragon alphabet, and once again beneath that in the neat curves and lines of the letters used by mortal folk. That name is J'shana.

And beneath that name is the following inscription:

4E182 – 4E269

Last of the Tygra tribe

First of the Khajiit Dragonborns

In this place in the year 4E201, J'shana of Elsweyr slew the dragon Mirmulnir and so discovered that she was Dragonborn. In the face of great adversity she risked her life to battle and defeat Alduin in Sovngarde. For centuries, her name and her legacy were forgotten. Now she is remembered once again as she should be, and she shall be honoured by the folk of Skyrim forever more.

And beneath that, a single sentence in Draconic:

Pah los gein.

On the eastern side, beneath the Argonian with the ram-like horns, there is more writing. The name inscribed in the stone is Derkeethus, and beneath it are the words:

4E177 – 4E266

A brave warrior who left behind his home and his safety in order to aid J'shana in her quest to vanquish Alduin. When they were together, no foes could overcome them, and their love was strong enough to withstand all trials they faced in both life and in death. His name shall be honoured until the end of time.

Written below the second Khajiit is another name, and another date. The name is A'jira, and the date of birth is 4E685. There is no date of death, because A'jira is still alive, and the people of Skyrim all hope that it will be many, many years before they need to carve a second date into the stone. The writing continues:

Second of the Khajiit Dragonborns

When Alduin the World-Eater returned, it was to a land where the dragons were a myth, the Dragonborn a story, and the truth a forgotten memory. With nothing but the ancient legends to guide her, A'jira of the Tygra kin stood against the first-born of Akatosh, completing the quest of her ancestor and finishing the battle that J'shana began. She brought back the truth to a world living a lie. She was the eye that saw in the night when all other mortals were blind. She is and always shall be the saviour of Skyrim, of Tamriel, of all Nirn.

And finally, beneath the young Argonian mage:

Zaran-Ra

4E684 –

An Argonian whose courage is matched only by his wisdom. A powerful mage and a loyal friend, who stood and fought beside A'jira as she embarked on the path that led her to her destiny. He helped to lead the great battle of Sovngarde, and without him, Alduin would have been victorious. The people of Tamriel owe him their freedom and their lives.

Every word that has been carved into the statue's base is true. But it is not enough. No words could ever be enough to describe just how much these four heroes have done for Skyrim, how much they are honoured and loved by the folk of that country, how much they sacrificed for the sake of their fellow mortals.

Every child of Skyrim knows the story now. Five hundred years ago, dragons returned to the skies of Tamriel. None could stand against them – except for a young Khajiit woman named J'shana, the Dragonborn, and her devoted friend Derkeethus, who was later to become her husband. J'shana, the tales say, defeated Alduin in the mists of Sovngarde, and Skyrim returned to peace. For a time.

After her death, the stories about J'shana of the Tygra tribe became garbled. And from being garbled, they became forgotten, and even hated. Many of the Nords of Skyrim started to resent having been saved by a Khajiit and an Argonian. The Greybeards, J'shana's wise mentors, tried everything in their power to make people remember the truth, but High Hrothgar was sacked and every one of them was killed, the Way of the Voice lost seemingly forever. Soon it was widely believed that the Dragonborn was a Nord warrior, and the name of J'shana slipped from history, lost and unremembered – except by a few.

The dragons of Tamriel have long memories. Many were J'shana's enemies, but many were her friends, for they swore allegiance to her after Alduin fell. Two, in particular, vowed to preserve the truth – her protector, the fearsome blood-red warrior dragon named Odahviing, and her mentor, the ancient, infinitely wise leader of the Greybeards, Paarthurnax. They knew that one day, the time would come for the truth to become known again. And dragons are patient. Dragons know how to wait. And so, in hiding and in secret, they and all their kin waited. And watched.

They watched as the segregation between races also grew worse – with Khajiit no longer being allowed within the walls of cities, whether or not they were in trading caravans, and being forbidden to marry Nords within some Holds. They watched as many dragons, too, forgot the oath they had sworn to the Dovahkiin and returned to their old, feral ways. They watched the years passed, as the hearts of the folk of Skyrim grew as cold and hard as the mountains that surrounded them.

They watched, patient and calm, because they knew that soon the time would come.

Because they had learned a terrible truth.

Alduin had not been destroyed. J'shana had defeated him soundly, but she had not absorbed his soul. His will to survive had been enough to preserve his existence. He had existed for many years, trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead, until he learned how to implant his soul into the bodies of mortals. He consumed them quickly, for they were far, far too weak to sustain him for long, but he was able to survive, flitting from mortal to mortal, and it would not be long before he would regain the strength to return.

When it happened, they did not see, because they were not watching. They never suspected that mere mortals would be able to bring Alduin back. They never dreamed that mortals would ever want to bring Alduin back.

And yet bring him back they did.

But Paarthurnax and Odahviing were not afraid. They knew that Alduin would not be unchallenged. For five hundred years they had watched the descendants of J'shana, with protecting them as best as he could. And they had known the truth about the last of that bloodline from the moment she was born. They saw straight away that the dragon blood was strong in A'jira Tygra. They knew that she was Dovahkiin.

And when Alduin returned, she was ready. She was only sixteen years of age, but she was strong and she was spirited. She faced her destiny when it was revealed to her, and she hunted down Alduin without hesitation, without fear. And when the time came, she destroyed him completely, taking his soul into her own and vanquishing him forever.

Half of the dragons of Skyrim, those who had followed and idolised Alduin, fled in confusion and fear. They had believed that their leader was immortal, undefeatable, eternal – and now a teenage Khajiit girl had defeated him. There were a few, the bravest, who attacked openly, but many were killed, and the rest scattered and hid. As for the others, those who had learned how to conquer their inner demons, breathed a sigh of relief. Alduin was gone. They were free at last to choose their own paths.

And some of them chose the path that the new Dragonborn offered to them.

Even without Alduin, A'jira knew well, Skyrim was still under threat. Some of the dragons, the ones who had been the World Eater's followers and soldiers, would continue to prey on mortals. And so she and her companion, the Argonian mage Zaran-Ra, created a new order. An order of warriors, both mortals and dragons, who would always be ready to protect the residents of Skyrim in their hour of need.

They called them the Dragonhearts.

This is why so many people leave gifts at the foot of the statue. Because the Dragonhearts have been there to protect them, time and time again. The farmer who places a sheath of wheat amongst the mountain flowers and the tundra grass does so remembering how, just as he thought that gang of bandits was about to burn down his home, slaughter him and his livestock and carry away his wife and daughter, a pair of dragons, both with riders astride them, swooped down from the sky and sent the brigands running for their lives. The hunter who leaves one of his rabbits there leaves it out of gratitude to the Altmer man and his steel-and-silver coloured dragon who chased away the giant that almost killed him a week ago. The simple peasant woman who drops a couple of gold coins at A'jira's stone feet sacrifices part of her tiny wealth just because she knows that without the work of the Dragonhearts, she and her family might well not be alive.

But safeguarding the peace and the people of Skyrim is not the only thing that the Dragonhearts have done.

When a Khajiit Dragonborn fought Alduin for the first time, it was in a world that was too ignorant to accept what was true. That was why J'shana's name became forgotten. But many years have passed since then. Thanks to the work of A'jira and Zaran-Ra, Skyrim is no longer so divided by prejudice as it once was. Khajiit may enter cities. Altmer are no longer spat at in fury for the crimes committed by the Thalmor in years gone by. It is becoming rarer and rarer to hear a Dunmer called greyskin.

The Dragonborns and the Dragonhearts have not only saved Skyrim. They have changed it.

And that is why a statue stands in the middle of the plains of Whiterun hold. So that this might never be forgotten. The truth is a great gift, and it is one we must treasure. Never again must mortalkind throw away that gift.

Stone does not last forever. One day, that statue will fall, toppled by weather and by time. But with luck, the memory of those four heroes will remain.

But, if you were to ask me… I believe that there is a fifth warrior who should be added to that statue. Or perhaps she should have one of her own built.

For she, too, is a hero. She, too, has gone up against a terrible foe and emerged victorious. She, too, did so knowing that it might cost her her life.

And she did so not because it was her destiny, or because the Gods demanded it, but because she chose to. Because she knew it was right. Because she was brave.

She may have the Dragon Blood flowing within her veins, but she is not and never has been Dragonborn. And, in my mind, that makes her a truly great hero. Her fate did not chose her – she chose it.

I may not have the wisdom of my teacher, Paarthurnax, but as the sworn protector of the Tygra kin, their tale is one I know well. It is a tale of heroes and of tyrants, of good and evil, of mortals and dragons. Is the tale of a young warrior, whose inner dragon was powerful and whose heart was true. It is the tale of a lone wanderer on a quest for vengeance. It is the tale of a dovah with a great and burdening duty. It is the tale of the Dragonhearts.

Come closer, my brothers and sisters. All of you, elf, man, beast and dovah alike. Listen well to this tale – the tale of how ordinary mortals almost brought the world to an end, and how ordinary mortals saved it.

Ordinary mortals – whose hearts were those of dragons.