CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE – CHOOSING PATHS

The snow began to fall again, very thin and very soft. The flakes drifted through the air, dotting the scales and skin and fur of the two groups of warriors who hung in the air above the courtyard of High Hrothgar. Not a single one moved to brush them away.

The three dragons who stood below gazed up at the watching faces with uncertain eyes. The Dragonhearts and the Bloodcallers stared back.

It was the Frost Dragon who had been the rightmost head of Qoyoliiz who finally broke the silence. 'We became Qoyoliiz against our will,' he said. 'We were taken from our lafaanne. We were forced into silfortaas. The time came for us to learn our names, but we never shall. Our silfortaas was consumed by the mortals who made us into a monster.'

Kaaldunir let out a quiet keening sound, and when Sha glanced around her, she saw shock, sorrow and anger on the face of every dragon. Even the Bloodcallers.

And she realised, suddenly, what this meant. The hatchlings would never have names. No other dragon could ever call them with a summoning Shout, to ask for aid to give a challenge. They would never have the three words that told them their identities. Sha thought of Argonian names, how they spoke of an individual's nature. They were made to be more than a sound you answered to. The same was true, only a million times more so, with dragon names. And the dragons who had been Qoyoliiz would never have that.

Even the Bloodcallers, she knew, would be furious at the thought. And judging from the growls rumbling in their throats, they were.

'Mortal magic!' It was the brown-scaled dragon who had attacked her as she and Kaaldunir had grappled with Qoyoliiz. 'It was the doing of the fahliil. He created Qoyoliiz. He enslaved my mind with bein lu, a twisted spell that stole away my will.'

The Elder female Bloodcaller let out a soft snarl. 'Qoyoliiz ordered the fahliil to be let live. He never told us why.'

'He wished to learn the magic of mortals.' It was the Frost Dragon again; the Storm and Fire dragons seemed to be content to let him speak for them. 'We were his mind; we remember his thoughts. He sought the knowledge of that bein lu, so that he could command the greatest powers of both dovah and joor.'

This sent a wave of hisses running through the Bloodcallers' ranks.

'He was our thur!' the only Wind Dragon of the Bloodcallers cried out. 'He sought to defeat these vaxxe – ' He swept his tail around, gesturing to the Dragonhearts – 'And give us back our freedom!'

'We have our freedom only now he is dead!' The Storm Dragon who had led the Free Flyers rounded on the Wind Dragon, teeth bared. 'See what your thur brought us to! See how many of our kin, our brothers and sisters, lie dead!'

'They died because these meyye took our right to hunt the joorre!'

Odahviing roared suddenly, and the Wind Dragon fell silent, ducking his head. Sha could well understand the smaller dovah's backing off- there was something about Odahviing that demanded respect, whether you were his friend or his foe.

'Qoyoliiz is dead,' he snarled. 'All who fought here saw his fall. And he fell at the hands of a mortal. Not the Dovahkiin, but her daughter. She has dragon blood, but she is joor.'

Sha saw the rows of eyes turning towards her, and she raised her head. The battle was won already, but it could end now, without another Shout being uttered or another drop of blood being shed. And she knew, as if some ancient knowledge she had been born with was rising to the forefront of her mind, that she had the power to end it.

'My name is J'shana,' she said, projecting her voice as far as she could make it go, forcing it over the sound of the beating wings. 'That was the name of my ancestor, who vanquished Alduin five hundred years ago. She defeated him in battle. Twice. Her grandson, Do'rado, placed the enchantment in that blade.' She pointed at Dragonbane, still lying in the courtyard. 'He slew a three-headed dragon with it. One like Qoyoliiz, created by a mage. Nothing of what Veldarion did was new. It had been tried before, and it failed, because that sword destroyed that mage's creation, just as it did Qoyoliiz.'

She felt the dragon blood sparking fierce and bright within her as she raised her voice to a Shout. 'The first J'shana defeated Alduin! Do'rado defeated the first sedklovdovah! My mother destroyed Alduin for good! And I killed Qoyoliiz! We are the Tygra. Our family has the blood of gods and heroes and we will always, always defend Skyrim against those who wish to harm its people. Look around you! When have you ever succeeded against us? You never have!'

Sha had been raised among dragons. She knew how to win an argument against a dragon. Laaskriiah had taught her, in case she ever needed to persuade a dragon not to fight her. First, you showed your strength, and that, she had done. Every Bloodcaller here, she knew, would now be remembering the two falls of Alduin. They would be watching Qoyoliiz split into three again and again in their minds. And they would be thinking of how mere mortals – three young Khajiit girls – had been the ones to defeat them.

Once you had shown strength, you made them doubt themselves. The Frost Dragon who had been Qoyoliiz's right head had done that. He had made them question their loyalty to Qoyoliiz – a creature whose creation had robbed names from three dragons, and who had expressed interest in learning the magic of mortals, magic that such dragons would see as unnatural.

And then you made them feel that in losing, they had won. The hardest part of all.

'Listen to me,' she said. And she knew that they were listening.

'And please, think about what I'm saying.'

She looked at their faces. They were thinking.

'Why did you come here today? Why did any of you decide that Qoyoliiz was a master worth following? Because you wanted to preserve your honour as dovahhe. You feel that with us here, the Dragonhearts, forbidding you to hunt mortals, you're threatened, oppressed. That we're denying you a birthright. Well, that's not what we want to do. We want to protect our people. Just as you wanted to protect your fellow dragons when you came here today.'

She closed her eyes, thought for a moment, and carried on. 'We can't have it both ways. You know that. You hunt mortals, we will fight back, and people will die. Return to your lairs, hunt animals but harm none of the men, beastfolk or elves, and no one dies. You have your freedom. We have our safety. If we truly tried to enslave you – as Veldarion did,' she added with a flash of inspiration, glancing at the brown-scale – 'Then of course you should fight back. But we will not try to do that, because the dragons must never have masters, never be controlled. And in turn, if you threaten our safety again, we will fight.'

A pause for breath, and she carried on. 'We'll fight on here and now , if we have to. But we don't want to. Go home. Fly free. For the sake of your brothers and sisters who would die in a war between us, let things end here. We can share this world, and no more die. Dragons are all one kin. Do what you know to be the right thing, and choose the path that will lead to no more of them being hurt. You followed two leaders who led you into nothing but destruction. You are dragons. You don't need masters. You never did.'

And that was it. That was all she could say. She had appealed to their pride, to their reason, and to their devotion to their kind. She could do nothing more.

'Strong words, briinah,' Kaaldunir murmured, and Sha touched her Wingsister's neck with her trembling hand and hoped it was true.

The quiet was broken by mutterings, rising from both groups. From the way the Wind Bloodcaller was growling, she had a feeling he would like to throw himself at her and force the words back down her throat. But he wasn't. And the others were murmuring to each other, or hovering alone with faces creased in concentration.

And at last, one, a vast Frost male, gave a small nod. 'The kaaz is but mortal, yet in what she says there is some truth,' he said, turning to face his fellow Bloodcallers. 'I have a mate. We shall soon have a hatchling. We have seen here today how fiercely the joorre fight. A war with them shall endanger my mate and our kiir. I believed one blow would crush these mortals, but there is strength in them I did not foresee.'

He swivelled to face Sha. 'You and your kind shall ever be my enemies, mon do faal Dovahkiin, kriid do dii thur. But I choose the lives of my fellow dovahhe over your deaths. I am Iizkrothur, and you have my vow that I shall not hunt mortals, if they shall not hunt me.'

'We won't,' Sha told him, hardly registering the flutter of surprise in her that it was she he turned to – not her mother, not Odahviing. 'You and your mate and your hatchling shall never be harmed if you keep to your word.'

Iizkrothur dipped his head slowly, and without another word, he turned and flew towards the north with steady windbeats.

Odahviing let out an appreciative rumbling sound. 'Iizkrothur has chosen. What do you choose, dii zeymahhe?'

There was another long stretch of stillness and silence. Then the Elder female spat angrily and whipped around, following Iizkrothur's path away from the mountain.

And slowly, the others followed. The brown-scale hung his head for a moment, whispering words even Sha's keen hearing could not catch, and turned away. The newcomers who had joined the battle as it raged drifted away one by one. The Wind Dragon hung on until the very end, but Sha knew it was only a display of pride. He would never have attacked alone. And soon, he too was gone.

A long, shaky breath escaped Sha. Here, then, was how it ended. Not with Qoyoliiz's death, but with her words.

Was it selfish to be proud of herself? Because she was proud. She hadn't needed anyone's help. Odahviing had guided her to Dragonbane, Kaaldunir had carried her, Amar had helped her, and Ilien had aided her in striking the final blow on Qoyoliiz, but every word she'd said here had been her own. She had ended the war. She, J'shana Tygra the second, and no other.

For the first time, she felt truly worthy of her ancestor's name.

When Laaskriiah's feet touched the ground, A'jira sat still for a moment, knowing that she had to move, but not feeling able to.

She wasn't injured, not badly. She'd lost a patch of fur on her tail, and there was a long cut down the side of her neck. When she pressed her fingers to it, her gauntlet came away with red streaks crossing it. But though these wounds smarted, they weren't what stopped her from moving.

What stopped her was that she was stunned, stunned at so many things. She'd felt just as shaken, just as amazed, when Alduin had fallen, a bare skeleton, at her feet. When you pour so much of yourself into a fight, it can be hard to reclaim it once it's over. It had not been long since Qoyoliiz's shadow first fell upon Whiterun and over the Dragonhearts' lives, but it seemed longer, and his death felt to A'jira like the end of an era.

She was stunned by the deaths, too. Taking on the soul of a friend was nothing like claiming that of an enemy. With Vednahviing, the Serpentine who had fallen at Whiterun, and the vengeful Revered Skarvennax, there had been a struggle, a ferocious battle of wills as the dragons fought against their fates, their hatred and rage lashing out against her mind until at last they were absorbed into her. But with Kroneirvild and Kestmaarnah, there had been a calm acceptance, and that was almost worse. Remembering what honourable creatures they had been, and knowing just how much had been lost. And Ilien, brave, serious, warm-hearted Ilien, the first Dragonheart other than the founding members. Her friend Ilien. Gone.

But what stunned A'jira most was why it had all ended. It had ended because of Sha. Because of her daughter. The child she had carried, the squirming bundle of fur she had watched grow into a strong, brave young woman, had faced down a monster and won.

With a long, slow intake of breath, she pushed herself down from Laaskriiah's back. 'Are you all right?' she managed to say.

Laaskriiah growled her assent, flexing her injured wing. 'I shall heal.'

A'jira nodded and forced her brain to focus. She wanted nothing more than to run to every single one of the survivors and embrace them – especially Sha, and especially Zaran. But she was not only Sha's mother and Zaran's wife. She was the Dragonhearts' leader, and they needed a leader now. She had to take stock of the damage. She had to organise the care of the wounded. She had to count the dead.

'I'll send a healer for you when I can,' she assured her Wingsister, and when Laaskriiah responded with a grunt that clearly meant don't worry about me, she set off towards the place where Arnor knelt beside Firlaen.

She knew already that it was too late, knew because Arnor was still, her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed. A healer, even one as inexperienced as Arnor, doesn't stop trying to save their patient unless there is no hope. And when A'jira reached the girl's side, she saw that Firlaen had already gone beyond hope. Beyond Nirn.

'She saved my life,' Arnor said softly. 'I was trying to heal Niirahsuven, and one of them ambushed me from behind. Firlaen and Nahzahkriiyol flew in the way. She was shouting about how she the Bloodcaller would have to go through her if he wanted to hurt me…'

Nahzahkriiyol, crouched beside his Wingsister's unmoving form, let out a quiet sound that was halfway between a moan and a wail. And as the sound of a dragon's grief always did, it made a shudder run through A'jira from nose to tail-tip.

'It isn't your fault,' A'jira said. 'Either of you. Firlaen was willing to give up her life for you, and I'm sure she's glad she did.'

Arnor gave a tiny smile, then frowned. A'jira had a feeling the Nord girl was about to say something, but before she could, there was a sound of footsteps pounding in the snow, and Andelm was running to her, and Arnor was leaping to her feet and throwing her arms around her father. A'jira smiled and backed away, her heart aching for Firlaen, but warming too at the sight of the Eagle-Hearts' reunion.

She wanted more than anything to seek out her own family, but knowing they were alive and safe was enough for now. She forced herself to walk over to where the most badly injured Dragonhearts had collapsed in a rough semicircle around Arnor. Niirahsuven was sleeping, a long red mark stretching across her side – Arnor's magic had closed it, but A'jira knew that the Wind Dragon must have lost a great deal of blood. Drusus was sitting on a boulder, his face creased and his hand pressed against his upper arm, where one of his protective dragonscale plates appeared to have broken, allowing a Bloodcaller's tooth or talon to get through. When A'jira started towards him, though, he smiled, shook his head, and waved her on towards the others. 'They're worse than me. I can go later.'

'Spoken like a true Dragonheart,' A'jira said, smiling at the young man. 'Just don't take it too far. Make sure someone sees you.'

Drusus gave a shaky laugh. 'Don't you worry. I'm not likely to forget about – ' He paused, wincing hard. 'This. It kind of hurts, see.'

Niirahsuven lifted her head and blinked blearily at it. 'Let the scar remind you of how you took the wound to save me, dii fahdon.'

A'jira smiled as she walked away. Saving each other- that was what the Dragonhearts did. Something very few of the Bloodcallers would ever have done. Perhaps that was why they'd won, in the end.

The next in the line of the injured was Echo, who was quietly working a healing spell over a burn on her leg. She glanced up as A'jira approached, her eyes round and worried. 'A'jira. Do you know how many we've lost?'

'Kestmaarnah and Ilien. Kroneirvild. Firlaen.' A'jira's throat became suddenly tight as she said the names.

'Hist have mercy.' Echo paused in her spellcasting a moment. 'And Duroth, and Tholund, and Sviri. Seven of us to those… monsters.'

'Eight,' A'jira corrected her. 'We lost Daandugram too, in a different way.'

Echo bowed her head and said nothing for a moment. Then she rose to her feet. 'I can help tending to the wounded.'

'Thanks, Echo. But don't over-exert yourself.'

'I won't. Who's the most badly hurt?'

'Ahlokkrin,' came a new voice; a gentle one that made A'jira's heart leap. 'She fought Qoyoliiz for some time, and he left his mark. Lorn is with her, but she needs any help she can.'

'On my way.' Echo dipped her head and moved over to where the Elder lay limply near the cliff-edge, leaving A'jira alone with Zaran.

He gazed at her for a long moment, then stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. A'jira closed her eyes and pressed her face against the softness of his robe, treasuring everything about the feel of his smooth-scaled hand stroking the fur of her head, and the warmth of his body, giving her the strong comfort it always did. She twined her tail around his and held tight to him, thanking every God that there was and ever had been that they had not taken him from her.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

He didn't need to ask what for. 'So am I. I will miss her.'

A'jira knew that was an understatement, that Zaran would mourn Kestmaarnah's loss with a constant ache he would never voice, never complain about. That was Zaran.

He let her go, but kept his hand resting on her neck, his fingers playing with her fur. 'Have you seen Sha yet?'

'No. I've been trying to get everything in order – '

Zaran gave a half despairing, half amused shake of his head. 'A'jira, you may be the Dragonborn and our leader, but you're also a person and a mother. Come on. Let's go and find –'

He got no further, because there was a sudden loud and joyful purr, and a grey-furred thunderbolt slammed into them both, almost knocking them off their feet. A'jira laughed breathlessly and managed to wrap one arm around her daughter, and the other around her husband. And then there was nothing but the three of them, her family, together and safe.

'Gods, Sha,' A'jira whispered, pulling her daughter as close to her as she could get. 'Everything you just did was incredible.'

Sha gave a muffled chuckle. 'It was pretty good, wasn't it?'

Despite her upbeat tone, A'jira caught the shakiness in her voice. 'You stopped a war, J'shana Tygra. You killed a monster and saved everyone here.'

Sha wriggled out of her parents' hold, shrugging. 'I don't know. Odahviing called the Free Flyers. Without that, I might never have got close to Qoyoliiz.'

'But you did,' Zaran told her. 'And it was what you said that made the Bloodcallers leave.'

A'jira shook her head. 'Those dragons weren't and aren't Bloodcallers. There are no Bloodcallers anymore.'

'Good riddance,' Sha said fervently. 'Maybe they'll actually think about what I said and keep away from hunting mortals.'

'Maybe they will. Maybe they won't. But what you said made them stop for now.' A'jira rested her hands on her daughter's shoulders. 'We're so proud of you, Sha.'

Zaran nodded. 'More than we can ever say.'

A'jira looked into her daughter's eyes, and saw so much of herself there it made her heart lurch. This was the way she had been – bright-eyed, eager to succeed, yet a warrior through and through. Divines grant that she grows to have a like life mine – happy, with a family and a home and the most loyal of friends, and a purpose worth dying for. And living for.

'And we've learned one thing today,' Zaran chuckled suddenly. 'The ability to make inspiring speeches runs in the family. I wish I'd been able to write down some of the ones you made in Sovngarde…'

A'jira laughed and gave him a light punch on the arm. Now that the chaos had died down, and she was with the two people she loved most, it was easier to smile and let go of her grief for those who'd fallen.

'Got to go,' Sha said, giving them a wide grin. 'I need to get Dragonbane back. And talk to Arnor, see how she's doing. And then I'm going to find Amar.'

'Sha.' A'jira reached out and grasped her arm as she turned to go. 'We love you.'

Her daughter was grinning from ear to ear now. 'I know. You never needed to tell me that. And I love you. So I'll try not to send you mad with worry by disappearing on any more adventures, but I can't make any promises.'

And she dashed away over the snow.

'She's grown up,' Zaran remarked. 'But it's good to see she's still a child, too.'

A'jira nodded, her heart to full for her to find an appropriate response. 'Right. I want to talk to those three dragons who used to be Qoyoliiz.'

'And I'd best get down to the healing.' Zaran regarded her for a moment, then pulled her towards him and gave her a swift but heartfelt kiss. 'I'll see you when all this is done.'

A'jira waited until he had joined Arnor and Lorn by the side of the now feebly stirring Ahlokkrin, then took in another deep breath and set off to where the three former Qoyoliiz-components were sitting in a semicircle, facing Odahviing. The red-scaled Guardian Dragon was talking to them in a low voice, and they were listening intently, occasionally nodding or asking a tentative question.

'Drem yol lokke, zeymahhe,' A'jira called, as she approached.

Odahviing turned to her with a quiet roar of greeting. 'Valokein!' Glancing at the three young dragons, he said, 'This, gorann geinne, is the one they call Dovahkiin.'

The Ancient Dragon regarded her curiously, the Storm Dragon gave a small half-nod half-bow in her direction, and the Frost Dragon bared his teeth in a smile. 'Dovahkiin. It is an honour.'

'Likewise.' A'jira dipped her head to them. 'It's good to see all of you freed from what Veldarion subjected you to.'

The Ancient let out a low growl. 'I feel I shall never escape the shame. Kosrinis gahrot. It was a life when I was not my own self.'

Odahviing shot him a disapproving look. 'A dovah should not dwell on the past, except as it gives him strength. To regret what being Qoyoliiz did to you shall bring you only self-doubt. This is a weakness.'

'What you were isn't important now,' A'jira told him firmly. 'What you do from here on is what matters.'

The Storm Dovah looked uncomfortable. 'Geh, Dovahkiin, but we are all three weakened by what the elf did. We have no names.'

Odahviing nodded slowly. 'I do not know of any dovahhe before you who had no names. It is yet to be seen how this shall affect you.'

'When Do'rado killed Menethil's creation, it must have split him into three dragons, just as it did when Sha killed Qoyoliiz,' A'jira pointed out. 'They must have gone through life with no names. They might still be out there somewhere. As far as I can see, it just means no one can call you with Shouts. I know it's more than that, I understand how important your names are to you – but I don't think it should have a physical impact.'

The Frost Dragon frowned. 'I believe you speak truth. Yet we must have something to be called by.'

'For convenience, if nothing else, yes.' A'jira looked at Odahviing, raising her eyebrows. 'Some dragons take on new names if they feel inclined to, don't they? They can only be Shout-summoned with their true names, but they still go by their new ones. There's nothing to stop our fahdonne here from doing the same.'

The Storm Dragon instantly looked more cheerful. 'We may choose names for ourselves?'

Odahviing dipped his head. 'And so you should.'

There was a brief pause, in which all three frowned, clearly focusing hard. It was the Strun-Dovah who spoke first. 'I have chosen. I shall be Thuldruniik.'

'Thunder bringer,' A'jira murmured. It was a fine name for a Storm Dragon, especially one who looked so much as if he was going to be a dangerous fighter. He was not as large as Vulqostrun, or the Free Flyers' leader, but his purple-grey eyes had a determined glint to them and his form was sturdy and muscular.

'I shall not choose a name now.' The Ancient rose, furling and unfurling his wings as if trying to get the feel of them. 'And I think I shall stay here no longer. I shall see if I can find the lair where I was raised. Perhaps my monah and bormah are still there. They shall be wondering what became of me, and I would be glad to set their minds at ease.'

A'jira nodded. 'Then may the Gods watch over you. If you ever want to return here, you'll be welcome.'

'Kogaan, Dovahkiin, but I doubt this is my place.' He spread his wings. 'But perhaps once I have learned more of who I am, and chosen a fitting name for myself, I shall return here to tell you it – and to thank your daughter for what she has done for me.'

He launched himself up into the air, his wings pounding fiercely, and was gone behind the curve of the mountain within a few seconds.

'And you, kul do fo?' Odahviing asked, turning to the Frost Dragon. 'Shall you choose a name now?'

'I shall.' The white-scaled dragon's face was creased with thought. 'I name myself not for what I believe I am, but for what I hope to be. I have seen the courage you and your warriors showed here today, Dovahkiin, and I wish to possess it myself. You are lights and pathways in the cold and the dark to those who are lost, and so I should like to be too. My name is Felniiraak.'

Winter guide. A'jira nodded, smiling. 'And I'm sure that's what you will be. Welcome to the Dragonhearts, Felniiraak.'

'I shall stay here also.' Thuldruniik stepped forwards. 'I do not know if I shall feel at home here, but I think and hope I shall. I was raised in the way of rage as a hatchling, but that was Qoyoliiz's path, and I am not Qoyoliiz. I shall not be like him.'

'Kril qethserod,' Odahviing told him. 'Qoyoliiz's shadow is gone from you now. From us all.'

'So it is,' came a new voice, deep and strong. 'And so may I speak with you, Dovahkiin? May we all?'

A'jira turned to see the Free Flyers gathered in the courtyard, the Storm Dragon at their head. Most were hanging back, clearly uneasy at being around so many people, but a couple were talking to their kin among the Dragonhearts, while others were gazing around with interest.

'Of course.' A'jira made a small bow in the Free Flyers' direction. 'May I ask your names?'

'I am Lommirsuth. These are Iizokriim, Kreinhezmiin, Venaakwuld, Ziigrahstin and Shaanodrel.' The Storm Dragon gestured to each of his companions in turn.

'We're in the debt of you all.' A'jira swallowed hard, knowing how much of an understatement her words were. 'There's no way to express how grateful we are to you for coming to fight alongside us. I know you don't want to follow our ways, and perhaps disagree with them – but you came to fight for the freedom of both mortals and dragons today, and no one here will ever forget it.'

Lommirsuth regarded her gravely. 'In times long gone by I served one with your birthright, Dovahkiin. Miraak, the first mortal to have your power. He was a master of Dov, but in time he fell.'

A'jira inclined her head slowly; she'd read of J'shana's battle to defeat Miraak in her ancestor's journal.

'When Qoyoliiz sounded the Call, I answered it. I went in the hope that here, at last, might be a leader of dragons who aimed to truly unite us, not to lead us into war without cause, war that would cause only dinok.' Lommirsuth snorted. 'I soon saw my mistake. I realised then that no one dovah or joor could ever have leadership over my people, for one who tried would be an ambitious soul who would seek to use our power to gain glory and wealth.'

He paused for a moment, studying her. 'I believed you to be such a one for a long time, Dovahkiin. I believed you asked dragons to follow your ways so that you might control them, in order to protect your own kind. But when I heard Odahviing's call –' He glanced at the red dragon, who exchanged a nod with him – 'And felt in my heart the truth of its meaning, I knew that I had been wrong. For Odahviing called for your cause, and he called for those willing to die to defend Dov. That, Dovahkiin, is what I now see you are.'

A'jira wanted to say something, but no words that came to her mind felt right.

'I say this because I feel you have a right to know why I and my fellow stin-boikke came to you here today. And I wish for you to know that should another fool threaten my people, should you call, I shall come again.'

'We all shall,' Shaanodrel said quietly. 'We wish to be allies with no cause, no thur, but we are willing to fight for what we know is right.'

'And I thank you for it. All Skyrim thanks you.'

Lommirsuth opened his wings, and his companions did likewise. 'We shall return now to our lairs. And to those we meet, we shall tell what happened here today, and make certain that they know your truth. Lok, thu'um, Dovahkiin, and may you ever have the strength to stand against those of Qoyoliiz's ilk.'

A'jira raised her hand in farewell as the Free Flyers rose into the air, soaring upwards together before breaking apart, each one heading towards a different corner of Skyrim. The warmth in her heart was growing stronger. Today, these dragons had come to understand what the Dragonhearts' true nature was. Lommirsuth and his fellows would tell others. And maybe, hearing it, more would come to the mountain, and fewer would see a worthy cause in the words of those like Qoyoliiz.

She turned in a slow circle, surveying the courtyard. Those dragons fit to fly were disposing of their own dead, whether they had been Dragonheart or Bloodcaller, carefully shifting the bones left by their souls' departure. She knew all they would be doing would be moving the skeletons to more open places where they could lie comfortably – 'It is more respectful,' Laaskriiah had said, when A'jira asked her once. Ilien and Firlaen had been laid out side by side in a sheltered space, and Fodiiniiz was already emerging from behind the monastery with claws full of wood for their pyres.

Nearby, the rest of the Dragonhearts were lined up in a weary queue, waiting for the healers to attend them. Having lost Firlaen, the potions expert, the process would be slower. A'jira sighed deeply and headed back over to them.

'How are we doing?' she asked.

Lorn didn't look up from his work treating Drusus's arm. 'Not bad. Could be better, could be worse. No one else is going to die, put it that way.'

'Glad to hear it,' A'jira said forcefully.

'A'jira.' The quiet call came from Arnor, who had been released from her care of Vithmulsah's injured tail by his growl of, 'That is enough, it hurts no longer. Turn to others.'

'Arnor.' A'jira sent the warmest smile she could in the young Nord's direction. 'Thank you for everything you've done. We're glad to have you as a healer.'

'Talking of healing,' Arnor said slowly. 'There's something… someone… I need to show you. And I think I should show you first, before… well, before someone else finds him.'

A'jira blinked, tried to work out the meaning of Arnor's words, and failed. 'Well, lead me to him, I suppose. Who is he?'

'Um.' Arnor bit her lip, leading A'jira towards the far side of the courtyard, near the path leading to the summit. 'You might not be pleased. But hear him out. Hear us both out.'

A'jira traced the path they were walking in with her eyes, and her gaze fell on a large, copper-red shape lying still not far from the courtyard's edge. She'd noticed it before, and had assumed it was simply another Bloodcaller who had been felled in the battle, and who hadn't been close enough for her to take his soul. But then she heard the familiar whisper of a soul's approaching, but not from the direction of the copper dragon. His body remained intact.

She braced herself, but the utter fury and mad hatred that engulfed her mind for a moment as the soul touched her still made her gasp and stagger back. Arnor grasped her arm, the kind of concern that only healers and priests have sparking in her eyes, but A'jira raised her hand, indicating that all was well. And it was; she was used now to the feeling of wrestling a dragon's mind, forcing it to let go of its fury, letting it relax into her own spirit.

She waited for the name, and it came, a small still hiss. Kahjuniisk.

A'jira gasped again, this time from shock. 'Kahjuniisk,' she whispered.

Arnor nodded. 'The one who killed Duroth. He's dead. I saw him die, and… I helped the one who killed him. I didn't hurt him, exactly, I wouldn't have felt right doing that, but he would have won the battle if I hadn't been there.'

'Battle against who?'

Arnor chewed on her lip for a moment more, then sighed and strode boldly over to the copper-coloured dragon – a dragon who, A'jira noticed with a burst of shock, had scales crossed with innumerable scars.

'Vulgrahskein,' Arnor called softly. 'May we speak to you?'

Despite the bemusement and astonishment fogging her mind, A'jira's head was clear enough for her to make out the one-eyed, broken-horned head lifting, the remaining eye squinting blearily in Arnor's directions. 'That is you, vahraniik?'

Arnor took hold of A'jira's arm and led her firmly over to stand where Vulgrahskein could see them. 'Me, and… a friend.'

'Dovahkiin,' Vulgrahskein grunted, and to A'jira's surprise, there was no venom behind the word, only a deep tiredness.

'Vulgrahskein,' A'jira said slowly. 'I'm… surprised to see you here.'

He snorted. 'I am surprised to be here, kaaz.'

'I assume you were wounded in the battle, and Arnor healed you?' It was the sort of thing the Nord girl would do, A'jira thought, healing the enemy. She wondered how many of the Dragonhearts would have done the same. Zaran, perhaps, but quite possibly none of the others. Would I?

Realising that was a question she couldn't answer, she blinked uncomfortably, and forced it from her mind for the moment.

'Geh. But it was not your warriors I fought, Dovahkiin. It was one who I would have called an ally, though he was my enemy.' Vulgrahskein let his head flop down into the snow again. 'Kahjuniisk always loathed me, for once, not long after you slew Alduin, I bested him in a battle for territory. He did not forget the insult. When Qoyoliiz chose me as his ziist in, his second in command, Kahjuniisk decided to kill me in this battle so that he could take my place, with none knowing that it had not been one of your soldiers who had slain me.'

A'jira crouched so as to be on a level with him. 'And Arnor here saved you.'

He grimaced, but did not make the fiery comments A'jira would have expected. Most other dragons with his wrathful ways would have protested at the very idea of being saved by a mortal.

'The bron brought me back from the brink of death.' Vulgrahskein raised his head again and fixed his gaze on A'jira's. 'I ask you to make me a promise, Dovahkiin.'

'What kind of promise?'

'That you shall not go down the mountainside, there.' He flicked his tail in the direction of the slopes. 'My mate lies there. Kahjuniisk killed Krahsosmaar as she defended me from him. She was too far from you for her soul to be claimed, but that was her greatest fear. Do not go near her, Dovahkiin. Let her remain her own dovah, even in death, and when I am well enough to fly I shall move her somewhere she shall never be found.'

For a heartbeat, a flash of anger and resentment seared through A'jira's blood. She had not wanted to take the souls of Kestmaarnah and Kroneirvild. She wished with every scrap of strength in her own soul that they could have been left undisturbed and complete. Why should this Krahsosmaar, a Bloodcaller, be given that respect when her friends, her Dragonhearts, could not?

A moment later she was ashamed of herself. None of the fallen, Bloodcaller or Dragonheart, had chosen how close to her they had died. It wasn't Krahsosmaar's fault that she had been too far away for her soul to be claimed. And she had died selflessly, sacrificing her life to save her mate. Just as Firlaen had died for Arnor. Just as Ilien had put himself at risk to give Sha a better chance against Qoyoliiz, and paid the price.

This Krahsosmaar had been a Bloodcaller, but she had died a Dragonheart's death. And so A'jira nodded. 'I'll stay away. Her soul will remain hers. You have my word.'

'And you have my gratitude,' the Ancient replied.

Sha regarded him for a moment. 'Vulgrahskein, I understand your hatred of me and everything I stand for. And I'm sure you understand that the anger my warriors and I feel towards those who followed Qoyoliiz. But I won't turn away an injured being, whoever they fought for. You have permission to stay here until you're healed, and we'll give you the same attention as we would our own, if you'll accept our help.'

The single yellow eye remained on hers. 'Your help I have already accepted,' he said. 'The bron gave healing to me without my asking. As she closed wounds in my body, so she opened wounds in my mind.'

A'jira frowned. 'I don't follow you.'

'He realised that Qoyoliiz was wrong,' Arnor said simply. 'And he promised he wouldn't fight against us anymore.'

A'jira stared at the dragon, and he looked back at her with a challenge in his eyes, as if daring her to disbelieve Arnor's words. And she was tempted to disbelieve them. This dragon, who had ambushed her in the scars, whose eye she had blinded, who had helped kill her old friend Brandor – he, of all dragons, was turning his back on his hatred of mortalkind?

And then she thought of Odahviing, once the right hand of Alduin. In J'shana's journals, even after they became friends, she described him as a ferocious, proud warrior. Now, though he still possessed his fighting spirit and the air of a commander, he was a teacher, patient and wise.

All dragons could change. All mortals could change. Not all would, but even once such as Vulgrahskein had the ability. And if I forget that, A'jira thought, I lose the right to call myself a Dragonheart – or the Dragonborn.

'Is this true?' she asked.

Vulgrahskein was silent for a moment.

'I do not know any longer what I truly believe,' he said finally. 'But I shall accept your offer, Dovahkiin, and remain on this strunmah until I am healed. But it is my mind that shall require true healing, for the words the bron spoke to me have made it so that I doubt all I was, and must learn again what I am. Only when I have shall I be healed.'

A wince of pain spread across his face the moment he had finished speaking, and Arnor moved closer to him with a warm gentleness in her eyes. 'Try to stay still. I'll return when I can; I'll find a potion to numb the pain.'

'You shall not. No dovah retreats from pain. It strengthens us.'

'That's what Qoyoliiz would have said,' Arnor said quietly. 'Or Kahjuniisk.'

Vulgrahskein grunted. 'Do what you will, bron.'

Arnor nodded and moved away, heading back towards the other injured. 'He's a Dragonheart,' she said firmly, as soon as they were out of Vulgrahskein's earshot. 'He just doesn't know it yet.'

A'jira gave her a searching look. 'What makes you so sure?'

'I saw his face when he talked about what happened to his mate.' Arnor bit her lip. 'He… he looked like my pa did, after ma was killed.' She turned her head, fixing A'jira with a serious gaze. 'Vulgrahskein did love Krahsosmaar, I'm sure of that, even if he didn't realise it. He's still confused, he's not going to become one of us overnight, but with some help, he'll realise that he's really believed in what we fight for all along.'

A'jira stopped walking, staring at the girl for a moment before giving a decisive nod. 'You need to talk to Odahviing.'

'About Vulgrahskein?'

'No, about yourself. You're two things many people in Skyrim aren't – a pacifist, and a healer. And I think you've also got the makings of a teacher. Ask Odahviing about how he convinces dragons to abandon their old ways. I think it's a technique you've already started to learn for yourself.'

A wide, confident smile spread across Arnor's face. 'I hope so.'

'Ma!'

Sha's shout, and the distress it contained, made A'jira spin around instantly. Her daughter was racing towards her, fur ruffled and eyes wide. 'What's wrong?'

Skidding to a stop, Sha glanced over her shoulder, shook her head in agitation, and looked back at A'jira. 'Have you seen Amar? I can't find him. Not anywhere.'

A cold dread stole through A'jira's heart. Sha had lost one friend in Duroth, and another in Ilien; for her to lose Amar would be a terrible, and unfair, blow. 'I saw him not long before the battle ended. I doubt anything will have happened to him in that time.'

'It hasn't,' Arnor said calmly. 'He landed with everyone else. I heard him tell Juskahrath he had something he needed to finish, and then he ran off towards the monastery.' She turned her eyes to the ground. 'And I think I know what he's gone to do.'

Halfway up the Throat of the World, a mountain goat shambled and hopped down the ancient stairway, its cloven hooves clicking on the stone steps. It paused beside a snowberry bush and took an experimental nibble at a few leaves. The tug at the plant caused a few crimson berries to come free and drop into the snow. They glistened among the whiteness like specks of fresh blood.

A crunching sound made the goat lift its head sharply. Its nostrils flared, and its ears flicked from side to side, seeking out the source of the noise. For a few seconds, it dithered, seemingly torn between the prospect of food and the common sense that told it to flee a potential threat. Then a dark shape emerged from behind a nearby cluster of rocks, and without another moment of hesitation, the goat fled.

Veldarion watched it go, leaning against the boulder, breathing in hard, strained gasps. He pressed one hand against his side, then held it up. His teeth clenched as he saw streaks of blood against his yellow skin. He breathed in deeply, trying to ignore the bolts of pain that shot up and down his body at the action, and concentrated hard. A flicker of golden light sparked weakly and briefly in his palm, before blinking out as quickly as it had come. Veldarion's face screwed up slightly, and a small gasp escaped him as he called upon the last few drops of his Magicka. The gold glow ignited again, and this time it stayed.

With a gasp of relief, Veldarion curled his fingers inwards and cast the healing spell. Drifts of gold wound up and down his body, and the piercing agony that had been burning in every part of him lessened slightly. He waited until his Magicka reserves had built up again, then recast the spell.

In his head, he was cursing, cursing in every language and with every word he knew. He cursed the Dragonhearts, he cursed the Dragonborn, he cursed her lizard husband and her interfering daughter. He cursed Qoyoliiz and the Bloodcallers and the entire dragon race. He cursed his weak, stupid brother. But most of all he cursed himself. Submitting to the weakness of his affection for his twin. That moment of foolishness had almost killed him.

It hadn't, though. He had saved his own life when Qoyoliiz shrugged him from his back. He'd fallen until he had begun to wonder if he would ever land, plummeting at last into a thick bank of snow. It had cushioned the fall somewhat, but there had still been rocks beneath, and he had hit them hard. For some minutes, he lay there, somewhere between consciousness and oblivion. Finally, he'd managed to summon the strength to cast a healing spell, slowly bringing himself back from the brink of death. And then at last, he'd forced himself to stand – just in time to see the Dragonborn's daughter bring Dragonbane down upon Qoyoliiz, and watch aghast as the beast fell apart into three separate dragons and tumbled from the sky.

To his surprise, he found himself feeling something completely unexpected – grief. He had hated Qoyoliiz by the end, but the sedklovodovah had still been his path to power. And Veldarion had been proud of his creation. Now, all that rage and power and potential… it had all gone to waste.

Veldarion shook his head, irritated at himself. There was no point in standing around lamenting everything that had happened. He had to make a plan; a plan to get revenge, a plan to get what he had wanted from the day he had first understood the meaning of the word. Power.

It had been his one reason for living, all those hundreds of years he had lived. He had dreamed about it at night and fantasised about it during the day. The scar on his face and the burns on his body had been at the price of his quest for power. Every drop of blood he had ever shed had been sacrificed for power's sake. He wanted it. He needed it. He deserved it.

And he would have it. He would. No matter what the cost. Never again would he let his feelings for Ilornias, or any other, cloud his judgement. And never again would he rely on a creature as independent-minded as Qoyoliiz. From now on, his only ally would be himself.

Veldarion drew in another long breath, and this time only a slight twinge of pain came with it. A grin spread across the Altmer's face. Fate was on his side. He had survived the battle, and the Dragonhearts almost certainly believed him to be dead. He would have his revenge, and he would have the power that was his birthright. Except this time, he would not risk his life by using beasts more powerful than himself to carry out his plans. No. This time, everything would be different. He would return to Icefall Barrow, and there, he would plot his revenge.

On impulse, he reached out, wrenched a handful of snowberries free from the bush, and crammed them into his mouth. The fresh, tangy flavour exploded inside his mouth as he bit down, and he felt his strength returning with every swallow. His smile widened, and he wiped his hand across his mouth, leaving a few streaks of crimson painted down his chin.

It was time to get moving. Perhaps, once he had a plan in place, he would return to the Throat of the World. And this time, the Dragonhearts would be the ones who suffered and died. He would begin, he decided, with the Dragonborn's daughter. She had carried out no particular crime against him, but she represented the destruction of his plans, and she would pay the price.

Satisfied, he chuckled to himself, rubbed his hands together, and prepared to begin his journey down the mountainside.

Something touched the back of his neck.

It was cold, even colder than the biting wind that howled around him, colder than the snow, colder than the chill that had swept over him as he saw felt Qoyoliiz throw from from his back. And it was sharp and hard, digging into his skin.

Slowly, infinitely slowly, Veldarion took a half-step forward, and turned around.

A Redguard man was standing behind him. He was fairly young, barely an adult, with dark eyes and black hair that came down to his shoulders. One side of his face had been burned, horrifically burned. An ebony-coloured cloak fell over his shoulders. And he was holding a long knife in each hand. One blade was uplifted and outstretched, and there was the tiniest speck of blood – Veldarion's blood – on the tip.

Veldarion made to lift his hands, but the Redguard moved forwards suddenly, the longer of his daggers pricking the skin on his neck. Veldarion had a feeling that if he even tried to conjure a spell, his throat would be cut. He swallowed, glared, and waited.

When the Redguard spoke, it was in a low voice that chilled Veldarion more than landing in the snow had.

'My parents were called Yasar and Aynur,' he said. 'My brothers were Sadun, Asref and Kamahran. My sister was Saoma.'

Veldarion began to feel that he should be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Anywhere away from that ice-cold voice and the furious promise in those dark eyes.

'You're Veldarion,' the Redguard continued. 'And you killed them. You killed them all.'

Veldarion leaped backwards and reached for the spark of magic within him. A flame hissed into being in his palm –

And vanished in a flash of light and smoke as a knife buried itself in his wrist. Veldarion dropped to the ground, a howl escaping him, grasping at the blade, tugging it free, and struggling to ignite the spell again, but the pain was too strong, he couldn't focus, he couldn't breathe. The human man had moved so quickly Veldarion had not seen him do it, and in his weakened state from his fall, he was in no fit shape to fight back. Oh, Gods, he couldn't fight back, he couldn't fight back at all.

There was a crunch of snow. Veldarion tried and failed to rise as his enemy took a single step towards him, so that his shadow fell across him.

'Answer me one question,' the Redguard demanded. 'Your brother, Lorn. What would you do if he were here now?'

Veldarion couldn't summon the strength to do anything other than tell the truth. 'I'd kill him. Because his very existence has ruined everything.'

There was a long pause, followed by the quiet swish of the Redguard pulling a long, curved dirk from his belt.

'My name's Amar,' he said. 'And I've been looking for you.'

For a heartbeat, there was silence on the mountainside.

Amar's blade swept.

Sitting on the seven-thousandth step of the path to High Hrothgar, Sha saw him coming. The sky was darkening quickly now, but she could make him out. He was walking slowly, head bowed, one hand resting on the weapon he had taken from Bharadi. When she called his name, he raised his head and lifted one hand, but didn't quicken his pace.

Sha waited for him to reach her. He smiled, but said nothing, and she was unsurprised when he turned and sank down onto the steps, gazing out over the road winding down the slopes in front of him. Sha seated herself beside him, watching him intently, knowing that when he wanted to speak, he would.

'So you got him in the end,' Amar said at last, tracing lines in the snow with his fingertips.

Sha nodded. 'So did you.'

He glanced at her for only a second before looking away. 'You got Qoyoliiz, and I… I got Veldarion.'

'What happened?'

'Not much. He fell from Qoyoliiz in the battle – Qoyoliiz threw him off, I saw it happen. I think he'd somehow enslaved one of the Bloodcallers with magic. When Qoyoliiz attacked Lorn, Veldarion ordered the other dragon to intervene, maybe without realising it. And Qoyoliiz realised and turned over so that he fell.'

Sha felt he was going to go on, so she stayed silent, and he did. 'I looked down and saw how much snow there was where he landed. I knew he might not be dead. So I went looking for him, and I found him on the path. I thought, he saved his brother, even if he didn't mean to. So I asked him about Lorn, and I decided that if he said anything that made me think there was the slightest chance he might change, I'd spare him and bring him back to the mountain. But what he said made me… angry. Because it was obvious he couldn't see what he'd become.'

'So you killed him.'

'Yes. And I regret it. I should have taken him up here anyway. Lorn should have decided his fate. I didn't have a right to do what I did.'

Sha looked at him, and saw with alarm that his eyes were wet.

'Amar,' sha said softly, placing a hand on his arm. 'Veldarion killed your family, and Kestmaarnah, and he caused the deaths of Gods-know how many other people. Everyone will understand why you did it, even Lorn.'

He sighed, bowing his head still further. 'I'll have to tell him what I did. I just hope he can forgive me.'

'He'll be upset. But I think he'll understand… even if he doesn't agree.'

Amar clasped his hands together. 'I made sure Veldarion's body was put somewhere animals couldn't get at it. I think we should burn him, with Ilien and Firlaen.'

Sha nodded. 'We decided we should have the funeral tomorrow, when we're… awake enough to pay our respects properly. Will you stay?'

He dipped his head. 'Of course.'

Sha looked at the ground for a moment, afraid to ask the next question in her mind in case he didn't give the answer she so badly wanted to hear. 'And… after that?'

'I don't know. I thought once I'd avenged my family, I'd know what to do next. But I've been fixating on this for so long…' Amar shook his head. 'I don't know what to do now.'

'Stay.' Sha tightened her grip on his arm. 'Stay with us, Amar. Stay with the Dragonhearts.' And before she even realised she was saying it, she added, 'Stay with me.'

He turned to face her, a look of surprise in his eyes that melted into a gentle warmth. And he placed a hand on top of hers.

'I think I will,' he said.

Together, they watched the last rays of the sun disappear.

We have one chapter and an epilogue left to go, people. I'm having a hard time believing it…

While you wait for the next chapter, please don't forget to go and vote for your favourite character in the poll on my profile! Vulgrahskein is currently winning, but not many people have voted yet, so if there's someone you especially want to win, you'd best go and vote for them…

Also, be sure to head on over to DeviantArt again, where blackstonethekitty56 has done another lovely drawing of Qoyoliiz, as has the awesome ShoutFinder. Blackstone has also drawn Vulgrahskein, and I've posted a picture of this story's minor characters.

And now, thanks so much for reading – and be sure to keep your eyes open for the next chapter, because the story isn't quite over. What will Lorn think of what happened to his brother? Will Vulgrahskein and Amar both fit into the Dragonheart life? And what's next for Sha? My holidays are over, but I'll try to keep on schedule with my writing, so all these questions can be answered soon...