A/N: You may be wondering where I vanished off to. Well, worry no more, I'm back. I read a prompt on the Skyrim Kink Meme requesting Forsworn lore and backstory, and seeing as Cicero Dragonborn had much of that, including stuff I never got to use, I volunteered. This is the result. At time of writing, it is not done, but as someone did guess it was me, I'm now sharing with the rest of you. Enjoy!

Spoilers for Forsworn Conspiracy/Cidhna Mine quests, the main and Dark Brotherhood questlines, the civil war and potentially anything that takes place in the Reach.

One use of strong language in this opening chapter, also apologies in advance to any Stormcloak sympathisers. I can make Madanach sexy, but I can't make him BFFs with Ulfric.

Summary: Nightshade, signature plant of the Dark Brotherhood. Juniper, synonymous with the Reach. When a Listener in trouble is forced to consort with the King in Rags to survive, she finds herself drawn to the Forsworn cause despite Madanach's best efforts to get on her nerves. Conventional alchemy gives nothing from mixing nightshade with juniper, but nothing about a Dragonborn is ever conventional...

This was degrading. Humiliating. BEYOND humiliating. She was the daughter of a wealthy merchant from the Summerset Isles. Archmage of the College of Winterhold! Listener of the Dark Brotherhood! (Not that that meant a lot what with Astrid still maintaining an iron grip on Falkreath Sanctuary.) The damn Dragonborn! They had no right to treat her like this. She wasn't some vagrant or vagabond, she was a lady, couldn't they see? She'd tried to tell that horrible Orc guard that this had all been a terrible misunderstanding, but to no avail. She could have sworn the woman had looked pleased at the idea of a high and mighty Altmer brought low.

"Lady, huh?" the Orc had growled. "You'll fit right in in Cidhna then, they've even got a king down there. Open her up, boys!"

The gates had opened, and dressed only in a set of prison rags, robbed of her usual finery, Liriel the Dragonborn had been cast into Cidhna Mine. For a string of murders she'd not even carried out, which considering the number of murders she had committed without ever being caught, was deeply unfair and unjust in her mind.

She wasn't going to cry. She was not going to cry! She was the Dragonborn, the heir of Ysmir, the Dragon of the North and she was not going to cry. They might have taken everything else, but she still had her pride... and she still had her magic. She would get out of here or die trying. How, she wasn't exactly sure, not yet. But she could start with the man whose agents had got her dragged into this mess in the first place.

"Hello," she said, walking up to a grey-haired, yellow-eyed prisoner sitting by the fire. "I'm looking for the King in Rags."

Liriel hated this place. Just as she thought her humiliation was complete, she'd find another degradation heaped on her. Finding out there were no private toilet facilities, you just found a quiet corner and got on with it. All the men glancing at her constantly and leering at her, especially that Orc, Borkul. When he'd demanded a toll and looked her up and down like a piece of meat, for a horrible moment she'd thought he'd want sexual services.

He'd grinned and just asked for a shiv instead. So off she'd gone to find one, to talk to Grisvar the Unlucky. He'd said yes but the price was Skooma. She'd had to pretend to be the worst kind of drug addict to get some. But it had worked and now she was on her way to see the King in Rags himself.

She had no idea what she was going to say to him. Demand he get her out of here this instant? Threaten to kill him? Both? She wasn't sure, but she trusted the words would come. They usually did.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. A small-ish room carved out of the dirt, a bed, a proper bed and not a stone one either! A chest, a table and chair, a few barrels – not the height of opulence but a luxury compared to the rest of the prison.

Madanach himself was dressed in the same prison rags she was, once-blonde hair turned silver, grimy skin but considerably cleaner than the rest of the prisoners. Presumably someone brought a bath in for him every once in a while. Liriel could have wept at the realisation that that was something likely denied to everyone else. A bath every so often and a proper bed, dear Mara, was this what her life had come to, that the thought of either was bringing tears to her eyes?

Focus, Liriel, focus, she told herself. She needed to confront Madanach, not be throwing herself at his feet and begging to borrow his bed for a few hours.

Right now, he was busy sitting at his desk, writing a letter of some sort. More killing orders for his Forsworn underlings? She didn't know and didn't care. She just wanted out of here.

"What is it, I told Borkul no visitors," Madanach growled, glancing up at her. He looked at her, paused, laid down his quill and sat back in his chair, turning to face her properly, not even bothering to hide the fact that his eyes were roaming quite freely over her body. Liriel shuddered, fighting the urge to be sick. She was not some piece of meat to be lusted after by this degenerate bandit!

"Well now. You're rather more attractive than most of the visitors I get down here. Is this a social call? Or did you have a more specific purpose in mind?" The tone of voice left no doubt as to what he was hoping that specific purpose might be. Liriel bit her tongue, digging her nails into her palms. While she was of course quite capable of roasting him alive, that wouldn't get her out of this vermin-pit any faster.

"I want my freedom," she hissed. "I'm in here for murders your people carried out, on your orders, and damned if I'm staying in this skeever-den any longer than I have to! So you're going to get me out of here or I'll – I'll..."

"Or you'll what?" Madanach asked, his voice a low, rasping growl more like a beast's than a human's. "Kill me? Melt my face off? Turn me to ice and shatter me with lightning? Oh, you can do all those things, pretty Elf. You could kill me right now if you wanted. But that won't change the fact that as far as the world above is concerned, you're the one who killed all those people. Margret, Eltrys, Thonar Silver-Blood's wife and those humble Reachman servants who were trying to protect her, including sweet old Nana Ildene who never hurt anyone."

"Nana Ildene raised Betrid's corpse from the dead and turned her against her own husband!" Liriel cried, losing her temper. She was quite sure she'd never hated anyone quite so much in her life. And Madanach had the audacity to sit there and laugh.

"So I heard!" he laughed, getting to his feet. "Wish I'd been there to see it." The laughter faded as he approached, circling behind her and managing to look imposing despite being two inches shorter than her. "I know you, Liriel," he murmured into her ear, trailing a finger along the point of her ear and down through her long red hair. "I've heard all about you. All sorts of... rumours. I'm prepared to believe you're a powerful mage. I'm prepared to believe you can swing a sword if you have to. You might even be Archmage, although I'm surprised the Archmage was slumming it out here. I'm not sure about this Dragonborn nonsense though, and I'm not even going to comment on... darker stories. But I do know that up there right now, the Empire-loving Dragonborn of legend is being talked of as nothing more than a common murderer."

"I am no common murderer, you lowlife piece of trash," Liriel hissed, itching to have at him and be done with it. No one spoke to her like this, no one!

"An uncommon one, then," Madanach laughed, backing off. "Whatever, they threw you in here with us anyway. You're not the Dragonborn in here, Liriel. Not the Archmage, not a Tribune in the Imperial Legion, not anything. You're a beast like the rest of us, a slave, the boot of the Nord tramping on your face forever. And ever. And. Ever. Kill me, escape on your own, your reputation is still in tatters. But if you understood us, understood what we're truly about... perhaps I could help you."

Liriel understood very little of this, not why this infuriating human was taunting her like this, nor why she was letting him and had yet to burn him from the inside out. Patience, she told herself. Just hear him out.

"What do you want?" she said, gritting her teeth. Madanach returned to his seat, leaning back in it like any Jarl on his throne.

"Well now, pretty Elf. I want you to get out there and listen for me. Think you can do that?"

Well, how very ironic. She was tempted to tell him she only listened for the Night Mother, but given that thanks to Astrid, she'd yet to follow the one order the Night Mother had ever given her, it seemed a bit pointless. So she just nodded.

"Good. There's a prisoner called Braig, apart from me he's been here the longest. Go and talk to him, tell him I sent you. Ask him how he ended up here. Listen to him. Void it, go and talk to them all, they've all got tales to tell, all the Reachmen anyway. When you're done, come back here and then perhaps we can talk." Without even bothering to dismiss her, he turned back to whatever he was writing.

"That – that's it?" Liriel asked, confused. "You just want me to talk to the other prisoners?"

"That's what I said, didn't I?" Madanach said, still not looking up.

"Right, right," said Liriel faintly. "I'll, er, do that then." Madanach didn't even bother responding and Liriel felt the urge to fling a lightning bolt at his back. But it wouldn't get her anywhere. Arrogant son-of-a-skeever. When she got out of here – and she would – she'd show him who was boss. He could lord it in Cidhna Mine all he liked, but when it came to it, he was stuck in here while she had the whole of Skyrim to play in.

What felt like hours later, and she must have spoken to every Reachman in the place, asking for their stories. She'd started with Braig, and worked her way through, and every time, although the details differed, the story stayed the same. Nords murdering one man's entire family. Nords making another destitute by taking his livelihood. Nords killing Braig's little girl in front of him and arresting him anyway. Nords, always the Nords, from Ulfric Stormcloak to the Silver-Bloods to their cronies on the street. Not all of them, of course, Liriel knew full well that one faction was not an entire people – she'd been called Thalmor often enough to know that. But she knew what injustice looked like, and this was it.

She'd never really thought about who the Forsworn were before. She'd fought them, of course – finding the Sybil of Dibella and taking Sky Haven Temple for the Blades had brought her into contact with them, but she'd thought of them as little more than savages. Fanatical, deadly, magic-wielding savages, of course, but savages nonetheless.

They still were, of course. But they were savage for a reason. It wasn't that they didn't know any better. They were vengeful because they'd been forced to be. They were lethal because they chose to be. They'd reacted to humiliation and injustice by taking to the hills, retreating to the shadows, striking out of nowhere in a rain of blood, haunting the Nords' nightmares even as the same Nords tried to oppress them.

They were the killers that Astrid's Dark Brotherhood wished they were. Liriel couldn't help but admire that. So it was in a rather different frame of mind that Liriel returned to Madanach.

"I did what you said," she told him. "I Listened."

"Good, good," said Madanach, glancing up, actually looking curious. "What did you learn?"

"I learned that Ulfric Stormcloak really is a cunt," Liriel said, mouth running away before her brain could process what she'd just said and stop it. She put her hand to her mouth, horrified. This place was getting to her. It was all getting to her, the lack of sleep, the dirt, the lack of privacy, the hunger, all the tales of woe she'd just had to sit through. All of it completely eroding her self-control and turning her into the worst kind of slum-dweller.

Madanach looked at her dead in the eye for all of two seconds before bursting out laughing, throwing his head back as if what she'd just said was hilarious. It was some minutes before he dried his eyes and pulled himself together.

"He is that," Madanach agreed, finally smiling. "All right, girl, I'll help you. I just need one thing from you."

"Something else?" Liriel cried. She'd just spent the last hour listening to stories of outrage and misery and watching grown men cry in front of her. She was tired, drained, worn out, she just needed sleep in her nice, warm bed at Breezehome or the Sanctuary or anywhere really. "What more do you want from me?"

Madanach's eyes flicked over her and for a moment, she thought he was going to ask for sex and that really did bring tears to her eyes. Altmer were not prey to such base urges, they were monogamous creatures who saved themselves for the purity of finding their one true love. Liriel hadn't found hers yet but she was very certain it wasn't this barbarian.

Mercifully, it was something else entirely he wanted.

"There's a prisoner here, a Nord by the name of Grisvar the Unlucky. You might know him already. He's a thief and a snitch, and I think he's a Silver-Blood plant. He's outlived what minor usefulness he did have. Take care of him and we'll be on our – I'm sorry, am I keeping you up?"

Liriel tried to close her mouth in an attempt to stop the yawn. To no avail. Madanach was glaring, eyebrows knotting together as he frowned at her.

"I'm sorry," she said guiltily. "I – do you know what time it is? I think it was late when they threw me in here and I don't know when I last slept..."

Madanach said nothing, his expression not changing in the slightest.

"I wouldn't know, I lost track of time years ago. I sleep when I'm tired, eat when I'm hungry."

Hungry. Mara, she was so hungry, she'd not eaten in forever either. And thirsty too, so very thirsty... She could feel tears pricking at her eyeballs again, and dammit she was not going to cry in front of this... this animal!

"I'm not tired right now," said Madanach, watching her, the frown gone but she really couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Here, take my bed. Grisvar's not going anywhere, get some sleep first."

"I – what?" she whispered, sure her sleep-deprived brain was making her hear things. Madanach growled, got up and flung back the covers on his bed.

"Take. The. Bed," he said firmly. Liriel didn't argue. She crawled into it, feeling soft furs against her skin and she almost cried as her body relaxed. Madanach drew the covers over her, returning to his chair.

"What about you?" she whispered, watching him, silhouetted in the candlelight. He just shrugged.

"Don't worry about me. I'm a Forsworn, I can cope with a little discomfort. It's not the worst to have ever happened to me."

Liriel wondered what the worst to have happened was, but she didn't ask. Before she could frame a coherent sentence, her eyes closed and sleep claimed her.

When she woke up, it was dark, the candles having burned down or been put out. For a second she thought herself at home, but then she smelt someone else on the blankets, a musky, male, human scent, and in a flash her eyes were open, heart pounding as she remembered where she was.

One magelight later and at least she could see. The room seemed unchanged from last night, Madanach still sitting at his desk – no, not sitting. Slumped over it, head resting on folded arms, and for a moment, Liriel's heart almost stopped. Sithis, no, please don't have taken him, he's my ticket out of here! Not to mention that no one would believe she'd not killed him.

She leaned over, touching his cheek and breathed a sigh of relief as she felt warm skin and saw him breathing. Just tired then. Damn the man, why'd he not woken her? She was an elf, she could cope without a bit of sleep. He was an old man and needed rest. Well, she assumed so anyway. She wasn't terribly good at telling how old humans were, and she still struggled sometimes with working out what a human age meant in Altmer terms.

However, despite being a skilled assassin and not-terribly-ethical mage who'd trafficked with more than one Daedra in her time, she always used to pray to Mara as a girl, and she still had a lot of affection for the goddess of love and compassion. Returning to the bed, she picked the pillow up and gently lifted Madanach's head. He stirred, muttering something under his breath, but did not wake as she placed the pillow on the desk and laid his head back on it. Then she took one of the furs off the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. It wasn't that chilly down here, but it got damp. She couldn't have him get cold.

"Sleep well," she whispered, slipping away. Time to prove Grisvar the Unlucky aptly named.

When she came back, mage armour still clinging to her and Grisvar's smoking remains lying on the ground while several nervous Forsworn prisoners poked at them, Madanach was stirring, blinking under the bright light of a candlelight spell.

"Did you leave this pillow here?" he demanded. "And the blanket?"

She should really have known better than to expect gratitude from the ill-mannered brute.

"Who else was in here?" Liriel said, not bothering with a shred of courtesy any more. If he wasn't going to show any, damned if she was.

He was frowning again. "Why'd you do that?" he snapped. Liriel just shrugged.

"Because you'd fallen asleep and didn't look any too comfortable, I was awake and didn't need them. No other reason although I'm beginning to wish I hadn't bothered. I killed Grisvar. Can we go now?" Or would there be some other thing she needed to do, some other hoop to jump through? Was he going to keep the promise of freedom hanging over her forever while he turned her into some sort of pet?

It was a clear sign this place was getting to her that the prospect of Madanach taking care of her almost made it all bearable.

"Impatient, aren't we?" he smirked at her. "All right, Dragonborn, let's get you out of here. Old gods forbid your dainty little hands go another day without their moisturising lotions."

Liriel's dainty little hands were going to be dual-casting Thunderbolt right at his heart if he didn't shut up soon, but fortunately the taste of freedom had a way of calming her.

"Lead the way," was all she said as she followed him out.

Later on, Liriel would remember very little of the escape itself, just running, recasting her armour, hoping her magicka wouldn't run out as she followed Madanach and the others through a section of Nchuand-Zel, the dwarven ruins under Markarth, fighting off spiders and Dwemer spheres, but mercifully no Falmer. Finally, the tunnel came to an end, huge Dwemer doors leading out into the city itself. Liriel came to a halt before them. Freedom lay beyond those doors. Freedom – except in these rags, it would be short-lived at best. She'd have to run for it, using her wits and her magic and not stopping until she was far from the city, and here was hoping she didn't run into a dragon. Sky Haven Temple wasn't that far – she didn't relish having to explain to Delphine just exactly how she'd ended up like this, but at least there'd be a bath and a bed and she could change into some Blades armour. She was no heavy armour specialist, but it would keep her safe enough until she got to Whiterun.

She was surprised then to see a young Forsworn woman step out of the shadows, and even more surprised to have her pack flung at her feet.

"You'd be Liriel, I take it," the young woman said, amused. "Not many Altmer end up in Cidhna Mine."

"Who are you?" Liriel asked, utterly confused. "And how did you know I'd be here?"

"I've got my sources," the woman said cryptically. "You should get changed, you know. All your things should be in there. Had to slit a few throats to get them, but it's all there. One set of what looks like the robes of the Archmage of Winterhold, one shiny glowing golden sword, about forty assorted soul gems, an entire apothecary's worth of potions, approximately half of which might actually be useful, an nice Elven bow and various arrows including some fancy glass ones, a coin purse with enough in it to buy this city, a keyring with about forty keys on it, twenty scrolls, what looks just like Azura's Star, a nice looking amulet I almost kept for myself, an ebony dagger that bears a suspicious resemblance to a very valuable one stolen from the Hags a few weeks back but I'm sure that's just a coincidence, a complete set of the Shrouded Armour and Shrouded Robes of the Dark Brotherhood -" At this the woman paused and just looked Liriel dead in the eye for a few seconds, clearly considering this rather carefully. "Assorted jewellery, ingots and gemstones, and I don't even want to know how you got hold of the Ring of Namira," she finally concluded. "In a way, you're fortunate you're carrying so much crap around. The guards couldn't be arsed to catalogue it and left it all in a big heap until they could be bothered to look at it."

Liriel didn't care. She was already dragging the pack behind a pillar, gleefully rooting through it, hunting for her beloved Shrouds. On it went, her black and red armour that fitted her like a glove and with it, she felt the indignities of the last few days fading. She was the Night Mother's Listener, a true-born daughter of Sithis, she had her magic, she had her Shrouds, she had Dawnbreaker, the Gauldur Amulet, Namira's Ring, Nettlebane, everything, back with her again. Time to do some killing. She put on everything except her cowl, preferring to keep her face free for just a little longer, and emerged to see Madanach had caught up with her. He'd exchanged his prison rags for a full set of Forsworn armour, missing only the stag headdress which was still in his hand – and he had his arms around the Forsworn girl.

Well, she'd known he was a fearsome old reprobate, but even she'd thought he had standards. That girl was young enough to be his daughter, surely?

"Kaie, cariad, it's good to see you," he murmured, holding her in a bear hug. Kaie was squeezing him back, then they let each other go, both smiling. Liriel hadn't realised the King in Rags actually could smile. He looked years younger when he did.

"I'm always visiting you, Da," said Kaie, laughing softly. "But it's good to see you dressed like you should be at last. What kept you?"

Madanach just shrugged. "Never seemed like the right time. But Keirine sent word that the stars were right and that if I didn't leave now, I never would. So here I am. Missed me?"

"Yes," Kaie laughed, hugging him again. "Yes, absolutely, I've missed my fearless battlemage father, striking fear into the hearts of the Nords. The fight's been boring without you!"

"You were nine years old when they took me, you've never fought at my side," said Madanach softly, stroking the girl's face, looking indescribably sad. "I'm sorry, macreena."

"We'll make up for it now," Kaie promised, eyes burning with pride. She was his daughter. The King in Rags had a daughter. Liriel had had no idea, although she supposed Madanach wouldn't want his family in harm's way if he could help it. Were there any other kids around? Another daughter? A son? Did that mean there was a wife out there somewhere? Liriel didn't know, but she was curious. She stepped out into the light, wondering what happened now. Maybe she should just take her leave, but once she did, would that be it? Back to being picked on by every Forsworn in sight? She'd fight them if she had to – but part of her didn't want to now. She felt sorry for them. Their cause was near hopeless, but their willingness to pursue it was admirable and their bloodlust in doing so was something she could respect.

Kaie and Madanach glanced up, Kaie looking her over and smirking, while Madanach... He took one look at her and his eyes widened.

"So it is true," he murmured. "You're one of the Brotherhood."

"It's not something I like to brag about," Liriel admitted. Not to anyone she intended to keep alive anyway.

"No, I don't suppose it is," Madanach laughed. "Don't worry, I don't mind. Be a bit hypocritical for me to judge, wouldn't it now? Kaie, this is the one I told you about. Liriel, Queen of Dragons."

Liriel could feel herself blushing and if it wasn't bad form to slap someone in front of their children, she might just have done it.

"I'm not the queen of the dragons!" she protested. "I've just killed a few of them."

"Did you hear that, daughter," Madanach said, turning back to Kaie. "Just killed a few dragons, she says, like it's no big deal, people go out and routinely kill the things all the time. Not that I've had the chance to see one yet, but I'm imagining they're not exactly small, are they?"

"Great big scaly things with teeth the size of an Orc's thigh-bone that fly, breathe fire and hate all humanity," said Kaie, summing up dragons rather well in Liriel's view. "Difficult to kill, and while I can't swear to it, I'm sure we've killed them, left the body, come back a day or so later and the damn thing's gone. Then surprise, surprise, there's another dragon looking very similar flying around. Da, I think the damn things are immortal."

"They are," Liriel said quietly. "But I can kill them permanently. If... if you're ever having dragon trouble, send word to me. I'll help you sort it out for good."

"Thank you, Mighty Queen of Dragons, should the combined might of the Forsworn no longer avail us, we'll be sure to petition for you to rise from your feather bed and your bath of warm bear's milk and give us a hand," Madanach growled. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a city to break out of."

"Wait, that's it?" Liriel demanded, flexing her fingers, feeling the magicka pooling in her hands just ready to unleash fire and death the next time he called her Mighty Queen of Dragons in that tone of voice. "No goodbye or anything? Not even a thank you for helping you break out?"

"I could have got out of this mine any time I felt like it, Dragon-Queen," Madanach said, glaring back at her with his hands on his hips. "You were the one petitioning me for freedom, remember? Still, I suppose I owe you something for your trouble. Seeing as it's sort of my fault you ended up in there in the first place. Kaie, have you got the special armour there?"

Kaie handed over a set of Forsworn armour, this set gleaming with enchantments. "Here you go. But why – Da! This is Ma's old armour! From... from before. You're giving it to her, why?"

"Your mother's dead, Kaie," said Madanach softly. "And even before she died – she'd not needed this for a long time, you know that. I'm thinking the Dragon-Queen Daughter of Sithis might find it useful."

He held it out to her, and Liriel took it, looking it over. It looked like ordinary Forsworn armour, if you could call that gear armour. But the magic – oh, the magic. Sneaking and archery and extra magicka and a boost to Destruction magic – oh yes. She could definitely use this stuff.

"I don't know what to say," she whispered. "Thank you!"

"Don't mention it," Madanach shrugged. "A king should be generous to those that helped him. And you did help me."

"You said yourself you'd have broken out anyway sooner or later," Liriel felt obliged to point out.

"True," Madanach admitted. "But I'm not one to offend the old gods by slighting their priestess."

Priestess? Liriel hadn't the faintest idea what that even meant, and as for slighting her, he'd barely stopped mocking her from the moment she'd walked in to his cell. It would take more than fancy armour to mollify her. Even if it did mean she now could look the part of a proper Forsworn warrior.

"I'm not a priestess," she told him. Now both Kaie and Madanach were looking at her as if she were simple.

"They've really lost their way, haven't they?" Kaie said, looking rather condescending.

"How have the mighty fallen," said Madanach quietly, no trace of a smile on his face. "Listen, Liriel, it's probably best you don't come with us tonight. Just get yourself out of Markarth, go home. Don't worry about your reputation either, after tonight they'll all know who to blame and fear. But after, if any of what you heard in Cidhna Mine still resonates... you'll find me at Druadach Redoubt in the north of the Reach. You'll be welcome there. Of course, I'd take care in the rest of the Reach if I were you. Nowhere will be safe now."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," said Liriel, fully intending to get out of the Reach as soon as possible and not return any time soon if she could possibly avoid it. All the same, she couldn't help but wish them well.

Madanach pulled his headdress on and turned to the other prisoners, all now changed into Forsworn armour, armed and waiting patiently.

"All right, brothers, I'm not going to give a long speech. You all know what you have to do, and after being stuck in Cidhna Mine, you don't need me to preach to you about why you should be fighting. So we're going to get out there and remind the world who we are." He drew his sword, not the stone weaponry the others were carrying, but a fine glass sword with a fire enchantment on it, and used his off-hand to cast his mage armour. "Let's go kill some Nords."

Cheering from the assembled prisoners as they charged for the exit as one. Kaie whooped for joy, cast her own mage armour and ran after them, dual-wielding two very sharp-looking Forsworn axes that looked like they were coated in poison. Madanach was last to leave, giving her one last look as he grinned at her.

"Welcome to the Forsworn, Dragon-Queen. I'll see you at Druadach." He clapped her on the shoulder and ran for the door.

"I'll see you in Oblivion first," Liriel muttered, pulling her cowl on. Arrogant, obnoxious, Forsworn son of a bitch. The fact that being told 'welcome to the Forsworn' had put a smile on her face that just wouldn't shift no matter how much she heaped silent insults on Madanach's retreating back was neither here nor there.

A/N: Cariad is a Welsh word meaning love or darling, macreena is from the Irish for my heart. I'm guessing the Reachmen probably had their own language at one point and bits have survived over the years even though they now all speak Tamrielic like everyone else.