But I don't want to! I want the real thing... Or at least, he wanted something to wrap round him like a warm blanket and make him feel cared for again, being able to just let go and trust everything was all right and that someone loved him.
“How long exactly am I supposed to be on these for?” Madanach sighed.
“For as long they're needed,” Borkul growled. “A year. A decade. The rest of your fucking life. Until you're not an addict any more.” He leaned closer, Orc eyes looking even more intimidating than most as he growled in Madanach's ear. “And you don't ever really stop being one of those.”
“I just took one little bottle-!” Madanach protested, then flinched back at the stony look on Borkul's face.
“Yeah, and your wife's ended up stuffed in a trunk and carted off back to Alinor as a result,” Borkul said firmly. “So take the damn potions with you, take them like your life depends on it. Because it does. And so does Liriel's, and your kids' lives, including Eola who doesn't think she needs anyone, and the lives of every single person in this country, because you are the damn Reach-King and we need you.”
“Not any more,” Madanach said bitterly, and that was what really rankled. After all the work, founding the Forsworn, leading the rebellion, not once but twice, and they could just kick him out like this. His own kin and his best friend.
“Hey,” and Borkul's voice had got gentler as he turned Madanach around, lifting his face up to look at him and to Madanach's surprise, the Orc was actually smiling. “Listen to me. You're only temporarily relieved. You'll be back in that throne before you know it. And anyway, you think you're completely on the scrapheap? They don't just call you Reach-King, boss. It's more than that. Saorseach, they call you. Breithan y Angwethai. You're the bastard who broke out of the prison they say no one ever got out of. You're not just a king, you're a damn legend.”
Liberator. Breaker of Shackles. How ironic he'd freed his country but not himself.
“I'm still not out of it, Borkul,” Madanach said, mentally cursing the Nords for everything they'd done to him, and wasn't this the last laugh – the one who'd brought them down brought down in turn by the Skooma addiction their bloody prison had left him with.
“Maybe not,” Borkul said, hands on Madanach's shoulders. “But you got us all out of there, had your Forsworn alchemists and Matriarchs working on anti-Skooma treatments, set that clinic up in the Keep with healers all trained to deal with Skooma troubles. You've talked me through enough relapses this last year and a half, same with young Odvan and the others, set the laws up and the policies that keep the stuff away from us, made it hard to track down Skooma even when we want it. Most other rulers just imprison dealers or send them on their way to the next province. Not you, oh no, you have the bastards impaled along the roadside or send the Dark Brotherhood in to investigate at the merest hint of a Skooma operation setting up in or near our borders. And anywhere else in Tamriel, addicts just get left to suffer. Fuck it, everywhere else it's perfectly legal to sack someone for Skooma addiction. You set up a rehabilitation programme and it's free for anyone who settles in the Reach after or already lives here. Wujeeta who runs the New Hroldan Inn, Niluva Hlaalu at the clinic – they both say your Slan Gwasanaeth turned their lives around.”
Madanach did remember both women arriving together – Wujeeta claiming Liriel had helped her once but the craving wouldn't go away, they'd heard the Reach could cure the addiction, please, they'd do anything, they'd sold all they had to get here, please...
Re: Thicker Than Blood 9.2
“How long exactly am I supposed to be on these for?” Madanach sighed.
“For as long they're needed,” Borkul growled. “A year. A decade. The rest of your fucking life. Until you're not an addict any more.” He leaned closer, Orc eyes looking even more intimidating than most as he growled in Madanach's ear. “And you don't ever really stop being one of those.”
“I just took one little bottle-!” Madanach protested, then flinched back at the stony look on Borkul's face.
“Yeah, and your wife's ended up stuffed in a trunk and carted off back to Alinor as a result,” Borkul said firmly. “So take the damn potions with you, take them like your life depends on it. Because it does. And so does Liriel's, and your kids' lives, including Eola who doesn't think she needs anyone, and the lives of every single person in this country, because you are the damn Reach-King and we need you.”
“Not any more,” Madanach said bitterly, and that was what really rankled. After all the work, founding the Forsworn, leading the rebellion, not once but twice, and they could just kick him out like this. His own kin and his best friend.
“Hey,” and Borkul's voice had got gentler as he turned Madanach around, lifting his face up to look at him and to Madanach's surprise, the Orc was actually smiling. “Listen to me. You're only temporarily relieved. You'll be back in that throne before you know it. And anyway, you think you're completely on the scrapheap? They don't just call you Reach-King, boss. It's more than that. Saorseach, they call you. Breithan y Angwethai. You're the bastard who broke out of the prison they say no one ever got out of. You're not just a king, you're a damn legend.”
Liberator. Breaker of Shackles. How ironic he'd freed his country but not himself.
“I'm still not out of it, Borkul,” Madanach said, mentally cursing the Nords for everything they'd done to him, and wasn't this the last laugh – the one who'd brought them down brought down in turn by the Skooma addiction their bloody prison had left him with.
“Maybe not,” Borkul said, hands on Madanach's shoulders. “But you got us all out of there, had your Forsworn alchemists and Matriarchs working on anti-Skooma treatments, set that clinic up in the Keep with healers all trained to deal with Skooma troubles. You've talked me through enough relapses this last year and a half, same with young Odvan and the others, set the laws up and the policies that keep the stuff away from us, made it hard to track down Skooma even when we want it. Most other rulers just imprison dealers or send them on their way to the next province. Not you, oh no, you have the bastards impaled along the roadside or send the Dark Brotherhood in to investigate at the merest hint of a Skooma operation setting up in or near our borders. And anywhere else in Tamriel, addicts just get left to suffer. Fuck it, everywhere else it's perfectly legal to sack someone for Skooma addiction. You set up a rehabilitation programme and it's free for anyone who settles in the Reach after or already lives here. Wujeeta who runs the New Hroldan Inn, Niluva Hlaalu at the clinic – they both say your Slan Gwasanaeth turned their lives around.”
Madanach did remember both women arriving together – Wujeeta claiming Liriel had helped her once but the craving wouldn't go away, they'd heard the Reach could cure the addiction, please, they'd do anything, they'd sold all they had to get here, please...