“What a tragedy that would be,” Madanach murmured, grinning up at her from where he was half-sitting, half-lying to eat his own meal. Liriel sipped her jenever and ate, watching as the sun set and the stars came out, the aurora lighting up the sky as Masser edged above the eastern horizon. It was a beautiful evening in the Reach, and unless a dragon showed up to ruin it, she needn't worry about a thing with the Forsworn on guard. It was nice to just be able to relax for once. She would indeed have to visit again if she could expect this sort of hospitality every time.
Finally she was done and lay back on the grass, pushing the plate away from her, sipping her jenever again. Madanach had also finished and was watching her, curious.
“You said you had questions,” he said. “And all you've asked me so far is why there's goat's heads on pikes around our camps. Surely that wasn't it?”
By this point, Liriel was full of pheasant and feeling quite at ease with the world on account of all the jenever, but she did just about recall what spurred her to come north in the first place.
“Why is it,” she began, “that I can turn up here and get plied with roast pheasant and fine liqueurs and a private audience with the King in Rags, but I go to any other Forsworn camp and they try to kill me? I even wore the armour and everything! Can't you send them a memo or something, tell them I'm a friend of yours? I mean, I am a friend of yours, right?”
Madanach sipped his jenever, expression unreadable, eyes hooded in the firelight, clearly contemplating how to respond to that.
“Of course you're a friend of mine, you'd never have been allowed to get this close to me if I didn't trust you,” he finally said. “But you're asking a very dangerous question there, my Liriel. I could answer it, but it involves giving an awful lot of our secrets away. Information for information, Liriel.”
Well, wasn't that just typical. Still, nothing came for free, she supposed. All the same, unless he was after some arcane magical knowledge from the College of Winterhold, she couldn't think what sort of knowledge she'd have that would be of any use to him. She didn't think a Forsworn would want to learn the Thu'um, unless of course he wanted a psychological weapon against the Nords.
“What did you want to know?” she asked. Madanach pursed his lips, eyes narrowed, clearly thinking how to frame his question, before leaning forward, edging closer so his eyes were inches from her own.
“I want to know why the Sacrament stopped working,” he growled.
Of all the questions she'd thought he'd ask, she didn't think it would have been that one.
“I'm sorry?” she managed to breathe.
“You heard me,” Madanach said, glaring. “Why did the Sacrament stop working? When my daughter died, when my wife decided to spend her time ascending to Matriarchy rather than rescuing me, when I wanted out of that daedra's bargain I made with Thonar and called on the Night Mother to help me, why did she not answer me? I'd get nightshade smuggled in, I had a shiv for that very purpose, I had candles stockpiled, every time a prisoner died, I'd have the body brought in to do the Sacrament. It never worked. Not once. I had silver ore to hand over to pay an assassin with, but no one ever arrived. They say no one escapes Cidhna Mine, but we had ways of getting information and supplies in and out, Kaie was visiting me every week once she was old enough, I had an agent in the guards. No one from your damn Dark Brotherhood, your priesthood of Sithis, no child of your Unholy Matriarch ever turned up. No one until you waltzed in demanding to be let out and blaming me, and not knowing a damn thing about any Sacrament with me. You want to know why I put up with you, why I helped you? Because I'd heard rumours the Altmer Dragonborn was a child of the Night Mother and wondered if perhaps, just perhaps, you were the answer to my prayers. Then Kaie brings your gear and what do we find but Shrouded Robes and Armour which you were getting dressed in straight away. Don't deny you're Dark Brotherhood, Liriel. I just want to know why the Dread Father turned his back on me when I needed him most.”
Re: Nightshade and Juniper 2.8
Finally she was done and lay back on the grass, pushing the plate away from her, sipping her jenever again. Madanach had also finished and was watching her, curious.
“You said you had questions,” he said. “And all you've asked me so far is why there's goat's heads on pikes around our camps. Surely that wasn't it?”
By this point, Liriel was full of pheasant and feeling quite at ease with the world on account of all the jenever, but she did just about recall what spurred her to come north in the first place.
“Why is it,” she began, “that I can turn up here and get plied with roast pheasant and fine liqueurs and a private audience with the King in Rags, but I go to any other Forsworn camp and they try to kill me? I even wore the armour and everything! Can't you send them a memo or something, tell them I'm a friend of yours? I mean, I am a friend of yours, right?”
Madanach sipped his jenever, expression unreadable, eyes hooded in the firelight, clearly contemplating how to respond to that.
“Of course you're a friend of mine, you'd never have been allowed to get this close to me if I didn't trust you,” he finally said. “But you're asking a very dangerous question there, my Liriel. I could answer it, but it involves giving an awful lot of our secrets away. Information for information, Liriel.”
Well, wasn't that just typical. Still, nothing came for free, she supposed. All the same, unless he was after some arcane magical knowledge from the College of Winterhold, she couldn't think what sort of knowledge she'd have that would be of any use to him. She didn't think a Forsworn would want to learn the Thu'um, unless of course he wanted a psychological weapon against the Nords.
“What did you want to know?” she asked. Madanach pursed his lips, eyes narrowed, clearly thinking how to frame his question, before leaning forward, edging closer so his eyes were inches from her own.
“I want to know why the Sacrament stopped working,” he growled.
Of all the questions she'd thought he'd ask, she didn't think it would have been that one.
“I'm sorry?” she managed to breathe.
“You heard me,” Madanach said, glaring. “Why did the Sacrament stop working? When my daughter died, when my wife decided to spend her time ascending to Matriarchy rather than rescuing me, when I wanted out of that daedra's bargain I made with Thonar and called on the Night Mother to help me, why did she not answer me? I'd get nightshade smuggled in, I had a shiv for that very purpose, I had candles stockpiled, every time a prisoner died, I'd have the body brought in to do the Sacrament. It never worked. Not once. I had silver ore to hand over to pay an assassin with, but no one ever arrived. They say no one escapes Cidhna Mine, but we had ways of getting information and supplies in and out, Kaie was visiting me every week once she was old enough, I had an agent in the guards. No one from your damn Dark Brotherhood, your priesthood of Sithis, no child of your Unholy Matriarch ever turned up. No one until you waltzed in demanding to be let out and blaming me, and not knowing a damn thing about any Sacrament with me. You want to know why I put up with you, why I helped you? Because I'd heard rumours the Altmer Dragonborn was a child of the Night Mother and wondered if perhaps, just perhaps, you were the answer to my prayers. Then Kaie brings your gear and what do we find but Shrouded Robes and Armour which you were getting dressed in straight away. Don't deny you're Dark Brotherhood, Liriel. I just want to know why the Dread Father turned his back on me when I needed him most.”