He settled her down on the bed, leaving her there before producing a tankard that actually looked clean-ish, and filling it with wine. Kneeling by her side, he passed it over, still that sympathy in his eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked as she sipped at the wine. It was cheap Alto wine but right then Elisif couldn't have cared less. It helped.
“How in Kyne's holy name am I supposed to be all right after all that,” Elisif whispered. “I lost my husband and my baby and oh gods, I never told anyone about the baby before.”
He was sitting next to her on the bed, rubbing her upper back but otherwise sitting about six inches away from her, no part of him touching her and that was a surprise but a nice one.
“It gets easier to bear,” she heard him say quietly, sounding like he knew first-hand and Elisif remembered hearing Torygg speaking of Ulfric, telling Elisif what a great man the Jarl of Windhelm was, how he'd smashed the savages of the Reach, torn their resistance movement apart, overthrown the treacherous usurper who'd led them, heroically reclaimed the Reach for Skyrim, and Elisif had lapped it all up unquestioningly. Now here she was hearing it all from the other side, and she was questioning everything she'd ever been taught. Here she was, trapped in a prison with said murdering usurper, and here he was, comforting her.
“What was your story?” she said, looking at him properly. “I mean, apart from being king and then getting dethroned – Torygg told me that one.” She didn't mention Torygg gleefully recounting about how Ulfric had shown those murdering witchmen a thing or two, or how she'd snuggled up with him and thrilled to the details. It didn't seem right to enjoy the victory when you knew innocent children had died, and not by the hands of the so-called witchmen either.
Silence, and he'd let her go, hands in his lap, just looking at the ground. He picked the wine bottle up and took a swig straight from it.
“I had a daughter too, four of them once,” he said softly. “Eldest was called Eithne, she'd be thirty four, thirty five maybe, if she'd lived. Married maybe, out there leading the fight perhaps, I might have grandchildren, you know. I'd have loved grandchildren.”
Elisif hadn't even realised what she was doing before she'd taken his hand, squeezing it.
“Could still happen?” she said hopefully. “You've still got one daughter at least!”
Madanach smiled bitterly, still not looking at her.
“Eithne was the reason I took over the tribes, turned them into the Forsworn, started all this. I wanted a better world for her than the one she'd been born into. She was my heir, my princess. And then when she was fourteen, the Nords found the camp we were living on – just me and her, the other three were at Karthspire with their mother. Ulfric was with them, he was Jarl himself by then, but he left Windhelm when he heard they were storming my camp. Apparently he hated unfinished business. It was a bloody fight, but I could have carried the day – it was me, Ulfric, Thongvor and Thonar, and Igmund left standing. Four against one, but I could have won. At least until my daughter, who I'd told to hide and stay out of sight, decided to go for Ulfric. He just shouted her down with that voice magic of his and ran her through. I surrendered after that. Dishonourable? Perhaps. Should I have fought and avenged her, even if it meant my own death? Maybe. But she was my little girl, my reason for fighting. Didn't seem a lot of point going on without her.”
Elisif remembered the days after Torygg's death, when she'd just stayed in bed, lying there as the miscarriage took her, sobbing her heart out or just staring into space, barely aware of anything. She'd got better since, got better at going through the motions anyway, and since the whole Dragonborn thing, she'd had things to take her mind off it. What had he had? Just four walls of his prison cell and a rebellion to lead.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her turn to comfort him now, and of all the people she thought she might share a grief with, all the people who might understand, she'd never expected it to be the leader of the Forsworn.
Re: The Wolf Queen Awakens 13.9
“Are you all right?” he asked as she sipped at the wine. It was cheap Alto wine but right then Elisif couldn't have cared less. It helped.
“How in Kyne's holy name am I supposed to be all right after all that,” Elisif whispered. “I lost my husband and my baby and oh gods, I never told anyone about the baby before.”
He was sitting next to her on the bed, rubbing her upper back but otherwise sitting about six inches away from her, no part of him touching her and that was a surprise but a nice one.
“It gets easier to bear,” she heard him say quietly, sounding like he knew first-hand and Elisif remembered hearing Torygg speaking of Ulfric, telling Elisif what a great man the Jarl of Windhelm was, how he'd smashed the savages of the Reach, torn their resistance movement apart, overthrown the treacherous usurper who'd led them, heroically reclaimed the Reach for Skyrim, and Elisif had lapped it all up unquestioningly. Now here she was hearing it all from the other side, and she was questioning everything she'd ever been taught. Here she was, trapped in a prison with said murdering usurper, and here he was, comforting her.
“What was your story?” she said, looking at him properly. “I mean, apart from being king and then getting dethroned – Torygg told me that one.” She didn't mention Torygg gleefully recounting about how Ulfric had shown those murdering witchmen a thing or two, or how she'd snuggled up with him and thrilled to the details. It didn't seem right to enjoy the victory when you knew innocent children had died, and not by the hands of the so-called witchmen either.
Silence, and he'd let her go, hands in his lap, just looking at the ground. He picked the wine bottle up and took a swig straight from it.
“I had a daughter too, four of them once,” he said softly. “Eldest was called Eithne, she'd be thirty four, thirty five maybe, if she'd lived. Married maybe, out there leading the fight perhaps, I might have grandchildren, you know. I'd have loved grandchildren.”
Elisif hadn't even realised what she was doing before she'd taken his hand, squeezing it.
“Could still happen?” she said hopefully. “You've still got one daughter at least!”
Madanach smiled bitterly, still not looking at her.
“Eithne was the reason I took over the tribes, turned them into the Forsworn, started all this. I wanted a better world for her than the one she'd been born into. She was my heir, my princess. And then when she was fourteen, the Nords found the camp we were living on – just me and her, the other three were at Karthspire with their mother. Ulfric was with them, he was Jarl himself by then, but he left Windhelm when he heard they were storming my camp. Apparently he hated unfinished business. It was a bloody fight, but I could have carried the day – it was me, Ulfric, Thongvor and Thonar, and Igmund left standing. Four against one, but I could have won. At least until my daughter, who I'd told to hide and stay out of sight, decided to go for Ulfric. He just shouted her down with that voice magic of his and ran her through. I surrendered after that. Dishonourable? Perhaps. Should I have fought and avenged her, even if it meant my own death? Maybe. But she was my little girl, my reason for fighting. Didn't seem a lot of point going on without her.”
Elisif remembered the days after Torygg's death, when she'd just stayed in bed, lying there as the miscarriage took her, sobbing her heart out or just staring into space, barely aware of anything. She'd got better since, got better at going through the motions anyway, and since the whole Dragonborn thing, she'd had things to take her mind off it. What had he had? Just four walls of his prison cell and a rebellion to lead.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her turn to comfort him now, and of all the people she thought she might share a grief with, all the people who might understand, she'd never expected it to be the leader of the Forsworn.