Just so you know, on Archive of Our Own, I used the tag "excessive use of Dovahzul". Please heed that warning and don't hate this too much. Word translations are the bottom of the chapter. I'm so sorry.

NAHKRIIN
Kotin Helgen | Into Helgen

When Nahkriin Meytuz was young, his father told him tales of dragons. He called them Dovah and spoke of great graatte and shouting matches that could level forests with their ferocity. He wove intricate stories of heroes and villains, of men who learned from the Dovah and eventually fought against them. Along the way, Nahkriin was taught the words the Dovah used, Dovahzul, and how they were different from the Thu'um, softer and safe to use with mortal company.

Motmahus was his first teacher and while his father was many things, Motmahus wasn't the easiest to work with. When Nahkriin stumbled through his words, more practice was added. More and more tiid spent on memorizing and writing sentences, hour after hour.

While he hated spending so much time away from his fahdonne, Nahkriin would admit he was grateful, years later, for all his father did for him.

Because knowing Dovahzul was one of the main things that saved his life once he crossed the border into Skyrim and legends came back to life.

Nahkriin had never known the Black Marsh. He was born in Leyawiin in the province of Cyrodiil and lived with his father. He knew nothing of his mother and while he'd asked when he was younger, Motmahus' eyes would always burn with a sort of pain and soon, he stopped asking.

She wasn't missed very often. He'd never known her, and the other Argonian inhabitants made sure that he never went without the comforts of mothering. While they weren't his by blood, the women he grew up leaning on were good enough.

Argonian. Siigonis. His father taught him that word; it was one of the first words he learned when he started learning the language of the Dragons. It was their heritage, Motmahus told him. The sossedov ran thick in their family and Nahkriin was proud of that. He also thought it was a believable fact, though Nords always wished to believe their own race alone was the bearer of the Dragonblood. That was ridiculous.

Argonians, as lizards, were much more likely to have a connection to dragons; giant, flying lizards.

Nahkriin found himself disdainful towards Bronne, with just cause. They hated his race, calling him and his kin beasts and pushing them to the outskirts of the village they lived in. They were treated as lesser beings for something none of them could control and he hated it.

Once, he'd asked his bormah why he allowed such treatment. If only they knew... if they learned that the very people they were ostracizing were the ones who could end their life with but a raised word...

Motmahus told him that they shouldn't flaunt what they were so maliciously. That it would only inspire fear and hatred and they had enough of that as it was.

Reluctantly, Nahkriin let it go. But he still watched the Nords with thinly veiled irkbaan and waited for the day when he could get back at them for all the wrong they'd done to him during his life.

He got that chance three years later at the age of twenty one, when he father told him to head for the northern province of Skyrim. A hahnuheim had come to him, like they always did, and showed him a fate both great and terrible and that Nahkriin was the one to follow it through.

So he left. He wasn't one to question his father, not after all the times he had and all the consequences that came of it. He'd learned early that his father knew what he was doing, even if Nahkriin couldn't see the logic.

So he headed north and crossed the border with legitimate papers and was on his way. He just never expected to find what he did.

Helgen was a quiet town; small and steady, with long family histories and plenty of inside jokes.

Nahkriin barely fit in. He knew he could have gone further into Keizaal, north to Riverwood or west to Falkreath, but something about this town felt strange. Compelling, almost, and he couldn't bring himself to leave. Something was going to happen here and he needed to stay to witness it.

Then the soldiers arrived. They cleared out a section of the village, setting up a podium and a curved block. A basket sat by its side and Nahkriin shivered just seeing it. A headsmen block. There was going to be an execution.

Was this what he'd waited for?

Three days later, two carts full of poorly dressed men and woman rolled into the village. The other villagers shouted faazrotte and threats but Nahkriin stayed silent, watching them. One man was especially talkative in the last cart, pointing out the General and the fact that the Thalmor were here as well. Nahkriin looked at the gate they'd entered through and saw both mentioned people, General Tullius conversing quietly with a darkly robed female Altmer. She wore a bored expression but watched the prisoners with dark eyes.

"General Tullius, sir," a guard started and the general glanced down, "the headsman is waiting."

He nodded and started to climb back to the ground. "Good. Let's get this over with."

Nahkriin turned away and tried to ignore the growing feeling of faast in his gut.

The prisoners were let out the carts and identified, though one ran when he was called. He was shot down and Nahkriin stared at the body blankly. What had he done to come here? Was it worth dinok? The Argonian didn't know and now, he'd never find out. Feeling numb, he watched as the rest gathered around the block.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," one of the soldiers sneered at a richly clothed, gagged man. Nahkriin swallowed. So the kinbok had be caught? "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Nahkriin had heard of that. How, just months ago, the Jarl of Windhelm had traveled to Solitude and challenged the High King. He didn't like that the first mention he'd heard of the Thu'um was followed by senseless death and civil war. That wasn't right.

But what could he do? Nothing. Here, he had no power, nothing to help end the war that plagued Keizaal. And even if he did, that wasn't what he wanted. Not really. He just wanted the slander against his haavneviis to end.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace," the soldier continued. Ulfric made noises through his gag, but the cloth bound his voice. A precaution they took with no other prisoners. Nahkriin felt cold. Would they have done that to his, if he'd entered without the papers he had?

Then a faint roar filled the air around them and the coldness he felt froze him on the spot. A Dovah? But it couldn't be; they were dead, left this world ages and ages ago.

"What was that?" one of the soldiers wondered, drawing Nahkriin's gaze back to them. Everyone was looking at the sky, but Nahkriin knew the dragon wouldn't be here yet. He glanced over the trees at the strunmah behind him. Monahven. The Throat of the World. The roar sounded like it came from there.

"It's nothing," the General said quietly. Nahkriin thought the man didn't quite believe himself. "Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius," the captain sounded eerily cheerful and Nahkriin wondered uneasily if she found genazend in this. "Give them their last rites."

A priestess started reciting prayers, but one of the prisoners came forward and interrupted her. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with," he said. Nahkriin didn't know if he should commend the man for his ahkrin in the face of Death, or curse him for his hinz.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning!" The man was kicked down into place, but even as he knelt, he glared at the soldiers around him. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

Nahkriin supposed he wouldn't be able to do either.

The oprotakiik lifted his axe, the weapon long and sharp, gleaming in the sunlight. He'd likely had it cleaned and sharpened for this very occasion. The idea made Nahkriin sick. He closed his eyes but couldn't block the sound as the axe came down and the man's head was removed.

"Damn you Imperial bastards!" one of the prisoners, a woman, shouted.

"Justice!" one to the villagers shouted back.

On the porch of the house beside him, a woman called "Death to the Stormcloaks!"

He desperately wished this would end.

Another rein echoed through the air and Nahkriin looked up with everyone else. Of course, he saw nothing and glanced towards the mountain. Was it his marahld, or did he see the tail of a Dovah slip out of sight?

Muttering filled the town, aank starting to settle on everyone. The captain cut their words short with a barked order of silence. Nahkriin wished it were that simple and shivered as dread settled over him. A Dovah was coming. He hoped there were survivors.

"Next, the blond!" the ruveyzun called, her voice twisted with gleeful malice. Nahkriin saw the talkative Nord swallow heavily, but walk forward like he was supposed to. He knelt without being forced, but the captain still pushed him lower with her foot.

Nahkriin never wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to kill that woman. She deserved death.

Fortunately for him, he might get his wish. A roar louder than either of the others split the air over Helgen, a large vul Dovah flying from the cover of Monahven. It circled the village and landed on the tower behind the headsman, the shock wave of its landing knocking everyone to the ground.

"Dragon!"

His heart thudded in his chest, his pulse throbbing loudly in his ear. A dragon; a Dovah, here, now? How?

"Yol..." he heard, and his eyes' widened as he watched the Dovah draw a deep breath. No, it couldn't be– "Toor Shul!"

But it was, and the courtyard went up in flames, the oprotakiik screaming as he was engulfed in fire. Soldiers and villagers alike screamed with him and in the chaos, Nahkriin saw a few of the prisoners rush for the tower three doors down from him.

He ran to join them.

"What is that thing?" the blond panted, vokoraak and shock clouding his voice. He was rubbing his wrists, the bindings cut. "Could legends be true?" Beside him, looking through one of the arrowslits, was Ulfric Stormcloak. Like the blond, his bonds were gone and his voice was quiet when he spoke.

"Legends don't burn down villages."

"I wish that were true," Nahkriin muttered, a taste like kii in his mouth. His father never told him this. Never had the stories ended in such gore. He shivered. That was his legacy? That kriivahkei Dovah?

All eyes turned to him and a few of the kneeling warriors grabbed for their weapons. Ulfric was staring at him with narrow eyes, but signaled for the men to be at ease. The blond looked him over.

"When did you get here?" he asked and he glanced at Nahkriin's hands. "Were you one of the prisoners?"

"No, I wasn't," Nahkriin denied. Something shook the building they were in and he thought it might have been pressure from the dragon flying by. A rein confirmed his thought. "But there's no safety out there and I found some."

"There's none here, either, Argonian," Ulfric said lowly. The tower shook again. He turned to address the others, "We need to move. Now!"

Soldiers scrambled to their feet, the wounded leaning heavily on the shoulders of their fellows. The blond nodded at him and started up the stairs. "Follow me!"

Nahkriin didn't question it. Maybe he'd be stabbed in the back once they were safe from the Dovah, but for now, he'd trust them. He didn't have much of a choice.

He could stay and try to fight, his ability to use the Thu'um handy against a Dovah. But Ulfric, who could also use the Voice, was running. Which meant there was little use in trying. And that dragon... Motmahus told him a few, milder tales that echoed this battle, told of the great Dovah Alduin... with scales as black as night and the morality of the worst criminal. There was no doubt in Nahkriin's mind of who was attacking them. And he stood no chance against him.

Halfway up the stairs, the wall crumbled inward and Alduin's head appeared in the hole. Nahkriin stumbled back into the blond warrior, barely saving both their lives as those three words repeated themselves.

"Yol Toor Shul!" The inside of the tower became like a stove and Nahkriin shielded his eyes against the light. One man screamed. When he opened his eyes, Alduin was gone and a charred naas lay on the stones.

The blond gulped behind him and Nahkriin glanced back, seeing his face pale and sweaty. Their eyes met and the man pushed past him.

"Come on," he said gruffly, refusing to look at the body. "Jump down to the building. Get to the keep. That's the way out."

Nahkriin only nodded. He jumped and jarred his legs on impact with the second floor of the Inn, looking at the destruction with a heavy heart. Even if it'd only been a few months, Helgen had been his hofkiin. And now... now, it was gone.

He fell to the first floor and ran out into the streets, cutting through broken buildings and avoiding streams of yol. All around him, people were screaming and dieing and the soldiers were shooting arrows at Alduin. But nothing changed; Alduin didn't weaken and more and more people fell.

He should be helping. Nahkriin felt frustration well up inside of him and almost turned back. But what could he do? Nothing he knew would be useful against Alduin and everyone else was trying their hardest to escape the walls and run from the assault. It was the only thing they could do.

Nahkriin kept his eyes on the ground and ran.

The keep came into view and he saw the blond man standing inside an open miiraad, scanning the area around him. When he saw Nahkriin, he nodded and held the door open a little more. Nahkriin rushed inside and the man closed the door.

Inside the keep, Nahkriin slumped against the wall, running his hands over his face, trying desperately not to cry. He didn't cry, so why did he want to now? He barely knew this town; he knew he couldn't help. So why...

"My name's Ralof," the blond said, shattering Nahkriin's train of thought and he looked up, watching as the blond shifted uncomfortably.

"Nahkriin," he returned and saw Ralof's brows furrow.

"What?" he barked out. Nahkriin shrugged. The man shook his head. "Never mind, I don't care. Here."

A war axe was shoved into his hands and Nahkriin fumbled with it. He shifted it to his left hand and fixed his grip, giving it a few swings. The weight was wrong, but the weapon was cheap and that was expected. Iron. Nahkriin had always used glass before.

"Good enough," he muttered and attached it to his belt. By one of the closed doors – more wooden spikes than a door – Ralof cursed. Nahkriin joined him. "What is it?"

"It's locked," he grumbled. "We'll have to wait until someone opens it from the other side. There's another door, but it needs a key."

"Well then."

Silence descended on them. Nahkriin sat on the floor beside the gate, leaning his back against the wall. The vol of the day was starting to truly sink in and he had to close his eyes. A Dovah. He couldn't believe it.

"A dragon," Ralof muttered next to him. "I can't believe it."

Nahkriin snorted. When Ralof glared at him, he just shook his head. "Why are you so calm right now?" the Bron asked bitingly.

"Because I'm forcing myself to be," Nahkriin replied dryly. He gazed at the ceiling, watching as dust fell when the dragon shook the building. "My father raised my on tales of the Dovah, of the battles they waged and their Thu'um. I'm almost used to this, though I never thought I'd live it."

Ralof frowned. "Two of those words are strange," he said slowly and Nahkriin blinked at him, surprised.

"What? Which ones?"

"Something like Doh-va and a shortened, lisped version of Skooma."

Nahkriin chuckled. "Dovah means dragon. And for the next, I wasn't saying Skoom'. I said Thu'um. You know it as the Voice," he explained.

"What language is that?" Ralof asked, if for no other reason than there was nothing else to do.

"Dovahzul," Nahkriin said and grinned when Ralof still looked blank. "Draconic," he said instead and Ralof sucked in a startled breath.

"The language of the Dragons?" he gasped, leaning away. "That language that thing was speaking?"

"Did you hear it?" Nahkriin had to ask and Ralof gave a terse nod. "It was using a Thu'um, a Shout. Fire Breath. Yol toor shul."

Ralof shuddered and the image of flames danced in both their minds.

"How do you know that?"

"My father taught me. All my family, back generations, knows Dovahzul," Nahkriin added. "My father told me it's our heritage and that we should always know that."

"Your heritage?" Ralof wondered and Nahkriin nodded.

"Yes. My family is Dragonborn."

The stunned silence that followed was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. Nahkriin glanced past the gate and saw the Lokolteiren captain with one of her soldiers. He stood calmly and quietly while Ralof gaped at him. Then, after the soldiers were close enough to the gate to reach the chain that would open it, he scrambled to his feet and unsheathed his weapon.

"The captain's mine," Nahkriin whispered fiercely and Ralof nodded. Then the gate came down and the two sprung out of the vokunne slashing.

The foot soldier went down quickly with a blow to the head, but the captain took longer, her armor blocking some of the damage Nahkriin was inflicting. He grit his teeth and growled, aiming a punch at her chest. It stunned her and she flinched, her eyes glaring for the second she had.

Then his axe hit her jugular and her head flopped, blood spraying his face.

Nahkriin and Ralof stood over the two bodies, quivering with the thrill the short fight had brought. After taking a long, steadying breath, Nahkriin bent to clean his blade and search for anything the Lokolteiren rahzunne had that was of value.

He found the key to the locked door in the captains' pocket and handed it to Ralof. He keep their coin purses for himself. If Ralof disliked that decision, he kept his opinion to himself.

The door they went through led to stairs and curved into a long hallway. Dust fell from the ceiling and the stones around them rattled. Nahkriin grabbed Ralof's arm and pulled him back right before he heard another roar and the ceiling came crashing down. So much for that path.

"We'll have to go around," Ralof told him. There was a door right next to them and he ran through that, Nahkriin following. In the first part of the room was a large fireplace, a cooking pot laying abandoned in front of it. Nahkriin could smell soup.

Further in, there were more soldiers and Ralof cut them down. Nahkriin ignored him and looked through the room, taking any and all potions the soldiers had. The few Setpims lying around found their way into his coin purse. A scoop of the not yet burnt soup filled a ladle and that was his kipraan for the afternoon; he knew he wouldn't be seeing food until he reached another town, whenever that was going to be.

The next hallway led to more stairs and up ahead, he could hear fighting. Ralof ran ahead of him and peeked around the door. His face twisted grimly.

"Torture chamber," he reported. Inside, two men in Imperial armor attacked a lone Stormcloak, her partner bleeding out on the ground. Ralof jumped in and the surprise of the attack allowed them to finish of the soldiers.

Nahkriin rushed to the wounded man, but there was nothing he could do. The spells he could use were short lived and for petty wounds; a cut or shallow gash or a headache. Not a stomach wound that he could already see was going to be fatal. He shook his head to the woman when she knelt beside him.

"You go on ahead," she whispered, grabbing the man's hand and holding it despite the blood. Nahkriin nodded and, after spending a moment picking up whatever he could, including a light colored knapsack, left with Ralof leading the way.

"His was an honorable death," the Nord said gruffly. Nahkriin simply nodded. It seemed a waste, to throw away your life over the gods, but he wouldn't mention it. Bronne were funny that way, with what they valued. But they were sensitive over it and if Nahkriin knew anything, it was how to stay away from those kinds of topics.

A room with stone bridges and running water was next and the two of them knocked down five Imperials. Once in the far corner of the room, Nahkriin closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer to Arkay, as his father had taught him. Senseless death would taint them, Motmahus told him, and those with the blood of dov didn't need any more curses on them than they already had.

"We should be close to an exit," Ralof said, glancing back at him. "What are you doing?"

"Praying to Arkay," Nahkriin said quietly. He continued muttering under his breath, ending with a louder "Aak silleu wah Sovngarde."

"Alright then," Ralof muttered and started forward again. Nahkriin followed a moment later, watching as Ralof pulled the lever to drop a drawbridge. As they passed over it, Alduin roared again and once they were in the next room, the ceiling over the bridge collapsed, destroying it. Ralof took a step away from it and looked rattled. "Well, no going back that way," he said, trying to hide the shaking in his voice.

"Guess not."

They walked through the cave tunnels silently and fought off the Frostbite spiders in the next room, though Ralof shuddered just seeing them. Nahkriin found a large coin purse across the cave from a bear and took it with a grin as Ralof scowled at him. A bottle of Black-Briar mead was on the ground in front of the cart and he tossed that at Ralof as a peace offering. The man took it with a sigh.

They sneaked passed the bear, since Nahkriin knew neither of them would be able to take it out with weak, brittle dol arrows. Besides, the only bows they'd managed to grab were long bows and those didn't have the right amount of tension to them.

Beyond that cave was a long, thinner tunnel and they took that until they could see light. Ralof sighed in relief. "That looks like the way out. I knew we'd make it!"

Nahkriin laughed at his enthusiasm and the man gave him a weak glare. Kusah. Maybe Ralof didn't hate him as much now as he did before. He supposed the way onto his good side was fighting on his side of the war.

Not that Nahkriin was going to make that a habit. If he could stay out of it, he would, for as long a he could.

They stepped into shulkun and Nahkriin smiled as he tilted his head to catch more of the light. It'd felt like days in those caves, but the sun was telling him it had only been a few hours. No matter. They were free now, away from the burning village and Alduin.

Just then, a roar echoed in the sky around them and Nahkriin flinched, dropping into a crouch. Ralof copied him and they watched from behind a bolder as the vul Dovah flew from Helgen, back towards Monahven.

"Looks like its gone for now," Ralof muttered.

"If I know Alduin's history, it won't be for long," Nahkriin replied. Ralof snapped his head in the Argonian's direction.

"What do you mean by that?" he barked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Nahkriin shrugged. "I grew up listening to stories of Dovah and learning their language. I told you that. But this Dovah, Alduin, is known as the World-Eater," he looked at where he'd last seen the dragon, eyes dark. "He won't give up until he's destroyed this world, or is destroyed."

"Isn't that fucking fantastic?" Ralof said darkly. He was scowling but Nahkriin could make out his tremors. Faas. Of course, this one had been on the block, moments from death, when the Dovah appeared. Nahkriin couldn't fault him his fear.

"Come on," Nahkriin said, standing and brushing off his clothes. "Let's get as far from here as we can."

Ralof nodded but didn't reply. They started walking and as they did, Ralof took the lead.

Everything around him was peaceful, as if a town hadn't just been destroyed, lives lost and illusions shattered. Birds were chirping, a fox was scavenging and somewhere, he could hear water running. Nahkriin looked at the scenery in fascination. How could things just go on, after what happened? Didn't Nirn know what was going to happen? Alduin was going to do his best to end this world, yet nothing but Nahkriin's unease seemed to reflect it.

"Where are you going to go?" Ralof asked quietly. Nahkriin glanced at him, knowing he was being generous on the topic, since Nahkriin had just lost his home. He shrugged.

"I was thinking of going to either Riverwood or Falkreath," he said. "Those were always ideas of mine."

"My sister lives in Riverwood; that's where I'm going," Ralof told him. Nahkriin frowned.

"Then I could follow you? You're probably going to be telling her of the attack; I could lend a second view of it."

Ralof looked surprised. "I suppose. And, if it doesn't bother you, someone needs to report it to Jarl Balgruuf and it can't be me."

"Why not?"

Ralof sent him a wry grin. "Because I'm a Stormcloak and most of the guards are not."

That would put a damper on going, if the rahzunne of the city were of the mind to kill on sight. "If I'm needed," Nahkriin conceded. And if he knew Alduin, he would be. He wondered if that was what his father's vision had been about; the dragon's return to Skyrim and the subsequent need for the Dovahkiin. The need for him.

He'd just have to see, wouldn't he?

How... fun.

KEY:

Nahkriin. Vengeance.
Mey Tuz. Fool blade.
Dovah. Dragon.
Graat. Debate.
Dovahzul. Dragon language/Draconic.
Thu'um. Dragon shout.
Motmahus. Elusive. Slippery.
Tiid. Time.
Fahdon. Friend.

Siigonis. Argonian.
Sossedov. Blood of the dragons.
Bron. Nord.
Bormah. Father.
Irkbaan. Hatred/Hate.
Hahnuheim. Vision.
Keizaal. Skyrim.

Faazrot. Insult.
Faast. Panic/Alarm.
Dinok. Death.
Kinbok. Leader.
Haavneviis. Heritage.
Strunmah. Mountain.
Monahven. The Throat of the World.
Genazend. Pleasure.
Ahkrin. Courage.

Hinz. Stupidity.
Oprotakiik. Executioner.
Rein. Roar.
Marahld. Imagination.
Aank. Anxiety/Unease.
Ruveyzun. Captain.
Vul. Dark.
Yol Toor Shul. Fire Inferno Sun. Fire Breath Thu'um.

Vokoraak. Disbelief.
Kii. Ash.
Kriivahkei. Murderous.
Al Du In. Destroyer Devourer Master.
Naas. Corpse.
Hofkiin. Home.
Yol. Fire.
Miiraad. Door/Doorway.
Vol. Horror.

Lokolteiren. Imperial.
Vokun. Shadow.
Rahzun. Soldier.
Kipraan. Meal.
Dov. Dragonkind.
Aak silleu wah Sovngarde. Guide their souls to Sovngarde. (I swear. 'silleu' is souls [sille], plus suffix -u meaning 'our' or 'their'. Thuum dot org will not translate it.)

Dol. Iron.
Kusah. Interest.
Shulkun. Sunlight.
Faas. Fear.

Adding a repeat of the last letter and -e makes a word plural. Adding -i makes it singular possessive (my, your, his, hers) while adding -u makes it plural possessive (our, their).
Bare with me; this will probably happen a lot. And I'm trying to make most of the chapters this long.
I mostly used thuum dot org for this, but the UESP page on Dragon Language helped too.